


AVARITIA - book one

by katyaleonetti



Series: The Seven Chronicles [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family (Harry Potter), Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Black Harry Potter, Book 1: Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone, Child Abuse, Draco Malfoy is Bad at Feelings, Dumbledore is Questionable, Endgame Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, F/M, Female Character of Color, Female Harry Potter, Genderbending, Genderswap, Girl-Who-Lived (Harry Potter), Good Draco Malfoy, Hogwarts First Year, Kinda, Manipulative Albus Dumbledore, Middle Eastern Hermione, Ron Weasley is a Good Friend, Severus Snape Being a Bastard, The Golden Trio
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-17
Packaged: 2021-01-21 11:43:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 27,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21298916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katyaleonetti/pseuds/katyaleonetti
Summary: Hari Potter is a name that all wizards and witches know. The Girl Who Lived. The Chosen One. A legend and hero to all.  But to Hari, she is none of those things. She is an orphan. An unwanted child. A freak. A burden.On Hari's eleventh birthday her world is forever changed when she discovers that she is a witch and is to attend the magical school of Hogwarts. Will she be able to withstand the pain and hardships that come with her new world full of magic? Or will she fall to the forces of wicked teachers, spoiled bullies, and Dark Lords?⚡aka the story in which Harry was born a girl.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Hermione Granger & Harry Potter & Ron Weasley
Series: The Seven Chronicles [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1535411
Comments: 13
Kudos: 47





	1. beginning notes

_N O T E S_

This story will be centered around the female version of Harry Potter (Hari)! This story will also be endgame Hari Potter and Draco Malfoy. As a result, Draco's storyline and general attitude will be altered to better fit the role of a heroine's love interest — cause my baby Hari deserves happiness. But as this series begins when they are at the adorable age of eleven, they will not be getting into a relationship until at least book three (I'm indecisive and I have not made it to book three yet so we shall see).

In this story, Hari will be of some African descent (Afro-Brazilian to be exact) and Hermione will be Middle Eastern (Iranian)-British. This is just how I picture these characters and it's my story so I can do what I want :)). That being said, I am _not_ Iranian or African. I never want to offend anyone and I try my hardest to do my research but I am ignorant about many things. If along the way I DO offend someone (this applies to more than just race) please do not get angry with me. Explain to me what I did wrong, that way I can learn from my mistakes and work towards being a generally good person.

**WARNING**: This story will not shy away from the Dursley's abuse of Hari. Harry Potter was **deliberately neglected and emotionally, verbally, and physically abused**. Anyone who tries to downplay Harry's abuse is either misinformed or an extremely shitty person. Petunia and Vernon are child abusers and they will rot in hell. 

Another less serious warning for all my Snape lovers out there:_ I do not like Snape_ and that is my opinion, you can have yours. I would just like all the Snape fans out there to know that this story will not be very kind to him. Nothing too bad but Hari will definitely not be naming her child after him. (Everyone pray for Albus Severus. Nothing's wrong with him, he just has a shit name.)

Also I — for some unknown and utterly idiotic reason — had decided to write this story in British-English... I am not British if you could not tell but I am in too deep and I do not feel like going back and fixing everything I've written. So Brits if my British-English set Grammarly, UK version of Harry Potter, and extensive research fail me, please help a brother out and comment on what I did wrong (I know some of my metaphors/figures of speech may be extremely American but what can I do). This also applies to general typos/grammar fuck-ups and to all those English speakers out there who are much better than me at writing. Much appreciated :))

Sorry that was so long! Thank you for reading and I really hope you guys enjoy this book. I put a lot of effort into it and I would love it for you to comment your thoughts! I will add a new chapter every Monday and Thursday :)) Or at least I will try very hard to. I've been trying to work on my horrible procrastination habits. So wish me luck!!

\- Katya ♡


	2. avaritia

_B O O K O N E_

  
  
  
**AVARITIA**  
latin for **_greed_**  


** GREED**  
/grēd/

_noun_.  
intense selfish and excessive desire for  
something, especially wealth or power

**"** On the first page of our story,

the future seemed so bright.

Then this thing turned out so evil,

I don't know why I'm still surprised.

Even angels have their wicked schemes **"**

**\- Skylar Grey**


	3. the girl who lived

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll try to keep this short :))
> 
> Admittedly this book and the second book will not deviate too far from the original storyline. As we get into the third book and onwards that's when I will have more significant changes. That being said the first two books will build up my version of the characters, as well the relationships they have with one another.
> 
> I hope ya'lls enjoy and please leave a comment with your thoughts!!

_C H A P T E R O N E_

**the girl who lived**

November 1st, 1981 was a day of celebration. Hundreds of owls flew through the cloudy grey skies, delivering letters. People whistled in the streets, hugging each other, and speaking excitedly. November 1st, 1981 was indeed a happy day. For wizards and witches of course.  
To Mr Dursley, a perfectly normal man, it was but another day. He watched from his car as strangely dressed people walk by, displeasing him greatly. Their colourful cloaks stuck out like a sore thumb in the town, different from all the other people who walked about. And there was nothing Mr. Dursley hated more than anything that was different.  
Once he had arrived at work, he quickly forgot all about the strangers he had seen and spent his morning as he always did. It wasn't until his break when he walked past a group of the strangers while on his way to the bakery, did he remember.  
The lot was whispering happily about something Mr. Dursley could not hear until he was on his way back to his job with a bag of doughnuts clenched in his beefy hand. It was then he made out a couple of words.  
"The Potters, that's right, that's what I heard — "  
" — yes, their daughter, Hari — "  
Mr. Dursley had almost stopped dead in his track as he heard the name "Potters" but he quickly regained his composure and ran across the street and back into his office.  
As he sat in his chair he thought about what he had heard out on the street. Potter was the surname of his sister-in-law and her family. Mrs. Dursley's sister, Mrs. Potter, was someone the Dursley's had not spoken to in years. Mrs. Dursley went as far as to pretend she didn't have a sister because she was terrified that their neighbours would ever find out about her and her good-for-nothing husband.  
The Potters did, in fact, have a small daughter that was around the same age has Mr. and Mrs. Dursley's, son. But while Mr. Dursley had never seen the child he was sure that she was called something like Natasha or Natalie, not _Harry._ And Potter was not an uncommon name, he was being silly.  
Even though he mentally reassured himself, he could not focus on his job for the rest of the afternoon. Soon enough it was five o'clock and Mr. Dursley left his office and headed home to his wife and son. But he was so distracted as he walked out the office building he had not noticed a small old man entering at the same time.  
"Sorry," he grunts out as he collided with the old man, who had almost fallen down at the force. It took Mr. Dursley a couple of seconds to realize that the old man was wearing a violet cloak like the others he had seen on the street.  
The little old man looked at Mr. Dursley with a bright smile. "Don't be sorry, my dear sir, for nothing could upset me today! Rejoice, for You-Know-Who has gone at last! Even Muggles like yourself should be celebrating, this happy, happy day!" the man squeaks out before enthusiastically pulling Mr. Dursley in for a tight hug.  
Mr. Dursley stood frozen, even as the man released him and walked off. Once he regained his senses he practically ran to his car, trying to get home as quickly as possible to avoid further interactions.  
At home, Mr. Dursley was determined not to mention anything to his wife. He sat at the dinner table and listened to her tales of the day, trying to act normal. After dinner he goes to the living room to watch the evening news as Mrs. Dursley put their son, Dudley, to sleep.

> _"And finally, bird-watchers everywhere have reported that the nation's owls have been behaving very unusually today. Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping pattern. Most mysterious. And now, over to Jim McGuffin with the weather. Going to be any more showers of owls tonight Jim?"_

> _"Well, Ted, I don't know about that, but it's not only the owls that have been acting oddly today. Viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire, and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that instead of the rain I promised yesterday, they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early _ _—_ _ it's not until next week, folks! But I can promise a wet night tonight."_

Mr. Dursley sat in his armchair listening to the newscaster and weatherman in shock. Shooting stars. Owls in the day. Strange people dressed in cloaks. Whispers of the Potters. This was all getting to be too much for him.  
Mrs. Dursley walks into the room, carefully balancing the two cups of hot tea. Looking at his wife Mr. Dursley decided it was time to say something to her. "Er — Petunia, dear — you haven't heard from your sister lately, have you?" He asks trying to appear nonchalant.  
Mrs. Dursley looks angrily at her husband. "No, why?" she asks stiffly.  
"Funny stuff on the news. Owls. . . Shooting stars. . . And there were a lot of funny-looking people in town today. . ." Mr. Dursley mumbles as he explains himself.  
"_So_?" Mrs. Dursley snaps, she hated the very mention of her sister.  
"Well, I just thought. . . maybe. . . it was something to do with. . . you know. . . _her_ lot." Mr. Dursley quickly figured he would not tell her about the whispers of "Potter" as he watches her sip her tea with an ugly look on her face. "Their daughter — she'd be about Dudley's age now, wouldn't she?" He adds looking for answers.  
"I suppose so."  
"What's her name again? Natasha, isn't it?" He asks hoping she could rest his worried mind.  
"Nahara," Mrs. Dudley corrects and some of the tension leaves Mr. Dursley's body. "But they call her Hari," the relief is washed over by cold panic, "Ruined her name with that though. Nasty, common name, if you ask me," Mrs. Dursley finishes unaware of the weight her words carried.  
"Oh, yes, yes, I quite agree," Mr. Dursley says absentmindedly.  
He did not utter another word on the subject for the rest of the night. Mrs. Dursley quickly fell asleep but Mr. Dursley laid staring at the ceiling. Was this all his imagination getting the best of him? Does it really have to do with their Potters? Mr. Dursley was comforted by the fact that even if it was the Potters, they would not come near him or his family. They knew very well how the Dursley's felt about them and their kind. With that thought he let himself drift into unconsciousness.  
  


* * *

A cat sits like a statue on the wall outside the Dursley house. Mr. Dursley had tried to scare it off when he returned from work but nothing fazed the tabby cat that sat outside of the Dursleys' home. Not the loud slamming of a car door, nor two owls flying overhead. It was not until it was nearing midnight that the cat moved as a man appeared on the street corner that the feline had been watching. The cat narrowed its eyes and looked at the very strange man.  
Tall and thin, the man had long silver hair and beard that reached his waist. His nose, long and crooked, held up half-moon glasses that covered his sparkling light blue eyes. Wrapped in long robes and a purple cloak that glided across the ground as the man moved, giving him the appearance of floating. But with Albus Dumbledore, you never knew.  
Albus rummaged around in his cloak until he realized he was being watched. His eyes shot up to look at the tabby that was still staring at him. Seeing the cat made him chuckle. "I should have known."  
He pulled a silver cigarette lighting from his inside pocket, held it up into the air, flicked it open, and clicked it twelve times. With every click a street lamp near him gave a little pop and went out, leaving Privet Drive in nearly full darkness. This ensured that if anyone were to look out their windows they would not be able to see a thing. Dumbledore put the Put-Outer back into his cloak and began to walk down the street towards number four. Once arriving he sat down on the wall next to the cat and began speaking to it.  
"Fancy seeing you here, Professor McGonagall." He smiles at what was now a grown woman. Her black hair was pulled back into a bun and she was adorned in an emerald cloak. She was stern-looking with square glasses that had matched the markings that had been around the cat's eyes.  
"How did you know it was me?" Professor McGonagall asks.  
"My dear Professor, I've never seen a cat sit so stiffly."  
"You'd be stiff if you'd been sitting on a brick wall all day," the woman snarks.  
"All day? When you could have been celebrating? I must have passed a dozen feasts and parties on my way here."  
The professor stiffens angrily at the thought. "Oh yes, everyone's celebrating all right. You'd think they'd be a bit more careful, but no — even the Muggles have noticed something's going on. It was on their news," she explains motioning with her head to the Dursley's living room window. "I heard it. Flocks of owls. . . Shooting stars. . . Well, they're not completely stupid. They were bound to notice something. Shooting stars down in Kent — I'll bet that was Dedalus Diggle. He never had much sense."  
Dumbledore smiles gently. "You can't blame them. We've had precious little to celebrate for eleven years."  
McGonagall's stern face falls into an irritated frown. "I know that, but that's no reason to lose our heads. People are being downright careless, out on the streets in broad daylight, not even dressed in Muggle clothes, swapping rumours." She throws a sideways glance at Dumbledore, pausing for him to speak and when he doesn't she continues.  
“A fine thing it would be if, on the very day You-Know-Who seems to have disappeared at last, the Muggles found out about us all. I suppose he really _has_ gone, Dumbledore?”  
"It certainly seems so, we have much to be thankful for," says Dumbledore thoughtfully. "Would you care for a sherbet lemon?"  
"A _what_?"  
"A sherbet lemon. They're a kind of Muggle sweet I'm rather fond of," Dumbledore explains seriously as if he wasn't just talking about the tragedy of war.  
"No, thank you," says McGonagall, not thinking now was the time for _sherbet lemons. _"As I say, even if You-Know-Who _has_ gone — "  
"My dear Professor, surely a sensible person like yourself can call him by his name? All this 'You-Know-Who' nonsense — for eleven years I have been trying to persuade people to call him by his proper name: _Voldemort_," Dumbledore encourages unsticking two sherbet lemons making Professor McGonagall flinch back at the name. "It all gets so confusing if we keep saying 'You-Know-Who'. I have never seen any reason to be frightened of saying Voldemort's name."  
" I know you haven't but you're different," McGonagall responds her voice filled with both exasperation and admiration. "Everyone knows you're the only one You-Know — " Dumbledore glances at the woman and she gives in. "oh, all right. The only one _Voldemort_ was frightened of."  
"You flatter me. Voldemort had powers I will never have," Dumbledore corrects humbly.  
"Only because you're too — well — _noble_ to use them."  
"It's lucky it's dark. I haven't blushed so much since Madam Pomfrey told me she liked my new earmuffs."  
Professor McGonagall looks at the older man exasperated. "The owls are nothing next to the rumours that are flying around," she continues choosing to ignore what the man had been saying. "You know what everyone's saying? About why he'd disappeared? About what finally stopped him?"  
McGonagall had finally reached the point she was the most worried about. The reason she had been sitting on the hard wall all day. She looked piercingly at Dumbledore, only ready to accept the "rumours" as true if he said they were. But the man did not answer, instead choosing to eat another sherbet lemon.  
"What they're saying," she presses on, "is that last night Voldemort turned up in Godric's Hollow. He went to find the Potters. The rumour is that Lily and James Potter are — are — that they're _dead_." McGonagall managed to spit out the rumours that made her heart clench. When Dumbledore did not deny the rumours and bowed his head, Professor McGonagall let out a gasp.  
"Lily and James. . . I can't believe it. . . I didn't want to believe it. . . Oh, Albus. . ."  
Dumbledore put his hand on her shoulder. "I know. . . I know. . ." he says, voice heavy with grief.  
McGonagall's voice trembles as she goes on. "That's not all. They're saying he tried to kill the Potters' daughter, Hari. But — he couldn't. He couldn't kill that little girl. No one knows why, or how, but they're saying that when he couldn't kill Hari Potter, Voldemort's power somehow broke — and that's why he's gone."  
Dumbledore glumly nods, confirming the rumour.  
"It's — it's true?" McGonagall asks flabbergasted. "After all he's done. . . All the people he's killed. . . He couldn't kill a little girl? It's just astounding. . . Of all things to stop him. . . But how in the name of heaven did Hari survive?"  
Dumbledore looks forward. "We can only guess. We may never know."  
The professor pulled out a handkerchief and gently dabbed her eyes while Dumbledore sniffled as he looked at his gold watch. Instead of a normal clock face, it had twelve hands and little planets were moving around the edge. Satisfied with the knowledge it presented, Dumbledore put it back into his pockets and spoke. "Hagrid's late. I suppose it was he who told you I'd be here, by the way?"  
McGonagall nods, "Yes and I don't suppose you're going to tell me _why_ you're here, of all places?"  
"I've come to bring Hari to her aunt and uncle. They're the only family she has left now."  
"You don't mean — you _can't_ mean the people who live _here_?" Professor McGonagall cries out in protest, jumping to her feet. "Dumbledore — you can't. I've been watching them all day. You couldn't find two people who are less like us. And they've got this son — I saw him kicking his mother all the way up the street, screaming for sweets."  
Dumbledore firmly states, "Its' the best place for her. Her aunt and uncle will be able to explain everything to her when she's older. I've written them a letter."  
"A letter?" McGonagall repeats quietly as she leans against the wall. "Really, Dumbledore, you think you can explain all this in a letter? These people will never understand her! She'll be famous — a legend — I wouldn't be surprised if today was known as Hari Potter Day in the future — there will be books written about Hari — every child in our world will know her name!"  
Dumbledore looks at the woman over his glasses very seriously." Exactly. It would be enough to turn any girl's head. Famous before she can walk and talk! Famous for something she won't even remember! Can't you see how much better off she'll be, growing up away from all that until she's ready to take it?"  
McGonagall goes to speak but seems to change her mind. After a brief second she speaks, "Yes — yes, you're right, of course. But how is the girl getting here, Dumbledore?" She quickly looks over his cloak, looking to see if the infant was hiding.  
"Hagrid's bringing her," Dumbledore answers simply.  
"You think it — _wise _— to trust Hagrid with something as important as this?"  
"I would trust Hagrid with my life," Dumbledore says not defensively but fondly.  
McGonagall sighs. "I'm not saying his heart isn't in the right place, but you can't pretend he's not careless. He does tend to — what was that?"  
A rumbling sound had broken the silence and was growing louder. The two looked up and down the street, searching for headlights but as the roar became louder and they had yet to see them they looked up at the sky. A huge motorbike falls out of the air and lands on the street.  
A top the motorbike was a man that was twice the height of the average man and the width of five. Long bushy black hair and beard cover most of the mans face making him appear very wild. In his muscular arms, he gently held a small bundle of blankets.  
"Hagrid, at last. And where did you get that motorbike?" Dumbledore asks his voice filled with relief as he looked at the bundle in his arms.  
"Borrowed it, Professor Dumbledore, sir," the giant says while climbing carefully off the motorbike. "Sirius Black lent it to me. I've got her, sir."  
"No problems, were there?"  
"No, sir — the house was almost destroyed but I got her out all right before the Muggles started swarmin' around. She fell asleep as we was flyin' over Bristol," Hagrid explains.  
Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall leaned forward to look over the blankets. Barely visible, was a baby girl who had a thumb loosely in her mouth as she slept. Under her short brown curls, resting over her left eye they saw an angry red cut that was shaped like a bolt of lightning.  
"Is that where — ?" McGonagall whispers, not wanting to wake the child up but too curious to not ask.  
"Yes," Dumbledore answers. "She'll have that scar forever."  
“Couldn’t you do something about it, Dumbledore?”  
“Even if I could, I wouldn’t. Scars can come in handy. I have one myself above my left knee that is a perfect map of the London Underground. Well — give her here, Hagrid — we’d better get this over with.”  
Dumbledore gently takes Hari into his arms and turns to the Dursleys' house.  
"Could I — could I say good-bye to her, sir?" Hagrid asks. When Dumbledore nods he bends his shaggy head over Hari and gives her a kiss on the side of her forehead that was not scarred. When he pulls back he lets out a loud wail.  
"Shh! You'll wake the Muggles!" McGonagall hisses.  
"S-s-sorry," Hagrid sobs, burying his face in his spotted handkerchief. "But I c-c-can't stand it — Lily an' James dead — an' poor little Hari off ter live with Muggles —"  
"Yes, yes, it's all very sad, but get a grip on yourself, Hagrid or we'll be found," McGonagall whispers trying to reason with the large man, patting him gingerly on the arm.  
Dumbledore steps over the low garden wall and walks to the front door. After he gently lays Hari on the doorstep, he takes a letter out of his cloaks and tucks it inside of the blankets. He steps back and walks over to the other two.  
The three of them stand there for a minute. Doing nothing but staring at the baby. The small baby that had already been through more than most had gone through in a lifetime. The small baby that looked so alone as she laid in front of the door. Hagrid's shoulders shook with powerful sobs, McGonagall blinked furiously, and Dumbledore's bright twinkling eyes rested dully.  
“Well,” Dumbledore says, the first to break the heavy silence, “that’s that. We’ve no business staying here. We may as well go and join the celebrations.”  
“Yeah. I’d best get this bike away. G’night, Professor McGonagall — Professor Dumbledore, sir," Hagrid says, voice muffled as he wipes his tears with his jacket sleeve. He jumps onto the motorbike and it rumbles to life. With a great roar, it rises into the air and disappears into the night sky.  
"I shall see you soon, I expect, Professor McGonagall," Dumbledore says nodding to the witch as she blew her nose.  
Dumbledore walks down the street, using his silver Put-Outer to return the lights to their street lamps so that Privet Drive was washed over by a sudden wave of orange. He saw a tabby cat slink around the corner of the street and stopped right as the bundle was almost out of his sight.  
"Good luck, Nahara," he whispers. With a turn and a swish of his cloak, he vanished.  
A light breeze blows at Hari's curls and she rolls over in her blankets without waking. A little hand clutches the letter as she sleeps peacefully. Not knowing what was ahead of her. Not knowing she was a legend, a hero. Not knowing she would spend the next months being pinched by her cousin Dudley. Not knowing that as she slept, people all over the country were cheering. Clinking their glasses together as they said:

** "To Hari Potter! The girl who lived!"**


	4. the great boa escape

C H A P T E R T W O

**the great boa escape**

It had been nearly ten years since Hari first joined the Dursley household but the house had hardly changed in the slightest. The passage of time could only be seen on the fireplace mantel. On the mantel sat pictures — all of a large blond boy but throughout his childhood. The photos ranged from the boy riding his first bicycle to playing a computer game with his father. But the room was an inaccurate representation of what occurred in that house. There was no sign at all that a young girl lived there. And that's how the Dursley's liked it.  
The young girl, Hari Potter, awoke with a start. "Up! Get up! Now! Up!" The shrill voice of Aunt Petunia screeches through the small cupboards door.  
Once Aunt Petunia was sure the girl was awake, she walks back to the kitchen and Hari could hear the clanks of the frying pan and the cooker. Hari rolls onto her back, smiling as she thought about her dream. It had featured a flying motorcycle — that felt strangely familiar to her; she must have had the same dream before.  
"Are you up yet?" her aunt demands, back outside the door.  
"Nearly," Hari responds meekly.  
"Well, get a move on, I want you to look after the bacon. And don't you dare let it burn, I want everything perfect on Duddy's birthday."  
Hari couldn't stop the groan that left her lips. "What did you say?" Aunt Petunia snaps through the door.  
"Nothing, nothing. . . "  
How could she have forgotten it was Dudley's birthday? Hari makes her way out of her bed and looks around her cupboard for socks. She finds them under her bed with a spider on them. Of course — because her room was the cupboard under the stairs — spiders were a friend of hers by now.  
She throws her hair up into a sloppy bun that threatens to snap the small band that was struggling to hold it all together — Aunt Petunia's hair ties were no match for Hari's thick curls. Opening the cupboard door, she makes her way to the kitchen. The dining room table was covered in her cousin's birthday presents — like it was every birthday and Christmas. Hari could make out what a couple of the presents were by their shape, deducing that one was a new computer, another was a television and another was a racing bike. But fat Dudley probably wouldn't like the latter present for too long.  
Hari and Dudley were the opposite of each other and not just personality-wise. Maybe it's because she is forced to live in a dark cupboard but while Dudley was fat and had a very round face, Hari was all bones and skin. She had a naturally small frame but appeared even smaller and skinnier under the layers of too-big dresses that Aunt Petunia had gotten for her at a thrift store. The Dursley's used to have Hari wear Dudley's old clothes but as the two of them grew older and started going to school, Aunt Petunia was forced to get her "girls" clothing so that she would draw less attention.  
Where Dudley had smooth blond hair that was cut rather short, pink skin and small watery eyes, Hari had a messy untamable mane of thick black curls, that fell down her back and skin that had been darkened by the long hours she was forced to spend outside tending to the garden — scattered with dozens of scars that had built up over the years — and striking big, round almost unnaturally green eyes.  
From what she had gathered over the years, her grandmother was Afro-Brazilian, which was why she looked so different from the blond Dursleys'. But her mixed ethnicity was not the only thing that made her striking face different from Dudley. She had a large scar over her left eye that cut through her eyebrow and was shaped like a lightning bolt. When she had asked where she had gotten it from, her Aunt Petunia bluntly said, _"in the car crash when your parents died. And don't ask questions."  
_ Uncle Vernon walks into the kitchen while Hari tends to the bacon. "Brush your hair!" he barks at her with his usual morning greeting.  
Hari's explanation that brushing her hair only made it even _more_ frizzy always fell deaf on his ears. Last time when she had yelled back at him that if they would get her proper hair-products her curls would not look so wild, she had to miss school for the next couple of days so the teachers wouldn't ask questions about where she had gotten the bruises on her face — though they never did.  
By the time the birthday boy arrives in the kitchen with Aunt Petunia, Hari's finished cooking. She somehow manages to squeeze the plates of egg and bacon in between the presents on the table. She looks up in time to see Dudley's face fall.  
"Thirty-six," he sneers having counted his presents. "That's two less than last year."  
"Darling, you haven't counted Auntie Marge's present, see, it's here under this big one from Mummy and Daddy."  
"All right, thirty-seven then," Dudley corrects heatedly, his face turning red in anger. Hari watches her cousin while eating her food, she wanted to make sure she had finished eating before Dudley threw a tantrum.  
Aunt Petunia could feel the quickly approaching storm as well. "And we'll buy another _two_ presents while we're out today. How's that, Popkin? Two more presents. Is that all right?"  
Dudley was quiet for a moment as he struggles to do the mental math. "So I'll have thirty. . . thirty. . ."  
"Thirty-nine, sweetums," Aunt Petunia supplies.  
"Oh, all right then," Dudley agrees before plopping down in a chair and reaching for the nearest present.  
"Little tyke wants his money's work, just like his father. 'Atta boy, Dudley," Uncle Vernon chuckles and ruffles Dudley's hair.  
The telephone rings and Aunt Petunia leaves to answer it, leaving Hari and Uncle Vernon to watch as Dudley unwraps his new racing bike, a cine-camera, a remote control aeroplane, sixteen new computer games, and a video recorder. He was ripping the dark red wrapping paper off a watch when Aunt Petunia comes back into the room with an angry and worried look on her face.  
"Bad news, Vernon. Mrs. Figg's broken her leg. She can't take her," she says roughly motioning to Hari with her head.  
Hari's heart swells with hope while Dudley's jaw drops in horror. Every year Hari was left behind with the mad old lady who lived a couple of streets over while Dudley and his friends were taken out for the day. She hated it at Mrs. Figg's, the house smelled like cabbage and the old lady made her look at photographs of every cat she has ever owned.  
"Now what?" Aunt Petunia asks furiously. She glares at the girl as if Hari had planned this all out in a plot to ruin Dudley's birthday.  
"We could phone Marge," Uncle Vernon suggests desperately.  
"Don't be silly, Vernon, she hates the girl."  
Hari was used to being talked about as if she wasn't there. She was also used to being talked about like she was something nasty and unwanted.  
"What about whats-her-name, your friend — Yvonne?"  
"On holiday in Majorca."  
"You could just leave me here," Hari finally speaks up hopefully. She was already planning what she would do all day. Watch whatever she wanted on the television, maybe go on Dudley's computer.  
But Hari's hope dies quickly when she saw her aunt's sour face. "And come back and find the house in ruins?" she snarls.  
"I won't blow up the house," Hari defends herself but she is talked over.  
"I suppose we could take her to the zoo," Aunt Petunia says slowly, ". . . And leave her in the car. . ."  
"That cars new, she's not sitting in it alone. . ."  
Dudley screws up his face and wails, not really crying but knowing that if he pretended his mother would break her back doing whatever he wanted.  
"Dinky Duddydums, don't cry, Mummy won't let her spoil your special day!" she cries pulling the boy into a hug  
"I. Don't. Want. Her. To. Come," Dudley yells as he continues to 'sob'. "She always sp-spoils everything!" Dudley gives Hari a nasty over his mother's shoulder.  
Just then, the doorbell rings. "Oh, good Lord, they're here!" Aunt Petunia says frantically.  
Half an hour later, Hari is squished into the backseat of the Dursley's car with Dudley and the boy's best friend, Piers Polkiss. Piers was a scrawny, rat-like, boy that held people's arms behind their backs as Dudley beat them.  
This would be Hari's first time going to the zoo and she was excited. Before they had left the house, Uncle Vernon had pulled her aside and told her, "I'm warning you now, girl — any funny business, anything at all — and you'll be in that cupboard from now until Christmas."  
"Honestly, I'm not going to do anything," Hari desperately says but Uncle Vernon didn't believe her. No one ever did. It wasn't like Hari meant for all these odd things to happen around her. Like how when, Aunt Petunia, got frustrated with Hari's wild hair and she took the kitchen scissors to it, leaving her with hair shorter than Dudley's with the exception of some fringe that she left to "cover that horrible scar."  
Hari spent that night crying into her pillow. She imagined going to school where she was already made fun of for her baggy clothes. However, the next morning, when she woke up the only thing different, was her red, puffy eyes. Her hair was exactly how it had been: long and thick. When she couldn't explain how it had grown back so quickly, she had been given a week in her cupboard and a belt to the back that left scars.  
Another time, Aunt Petunia had tried to force her into an ugly old jumper of Dudley's. The more she tried to force it over the girl's head the smaller it shrank. It shrank until it could barely fit on someone's hand, let alone the five-year-old girl. Thankfully, Aunt Petunia decided it shrunk in the dryer and Hari wasn't punished.  
There were plenty of other stories like those but today, Hari was determined that nothing was going to go wrong. To Hari, being able to spend the day outside of school, her cupboard, or Mrs. Figg's was worth having to be with Dudley and Piers.  
Uncle Vernon was complaining to Aunt Petunia as they drove. He always had something to complain about and today it was motorcycles. ". . . roaring along like maniacs, the young hoodlums," he huffs as a motorcycle passes them.  
"I had a dream about a flying motorcycle," Hari adds before she can stop herself. She immediately cringes back into her seat, drawing her arms close to her sides.  
Uncle Vernon almost crashes when he hears her. He quickly turns in his seat and angrily screams, "MOTORCYCLES DON'T FLY!"  
Hari sighs, "I know they don't. It was a dream." She shouldn't have said anything.  
She looks out the window at the sunny sky; taking in the town and all the people in it. Before long they arrived at the zoo. It was crowded with happy families. The Dursley's had bought Dudley and Piers chocolate ice creams at the entrance and unfortunately for them, the smiling lady in the van asked Hari what she wanted. To avoid looking suspicious Uncle Vernon bought her a cheap lemon ice lol that was actually pretty good.  
Hari was having the best day so far. Making sure to keep some distance between the Dursley's and herself solved the problem of having to spend the day with them. While Dudley and Piers started becoming bored with the animals, Hari looked at them with pure fascination, she had never seen these animals in real life before. Only seeing them in textbooks to school or on the TV shows, Dudley liked to watch.  
When it came time for lunch they ate in the zoo restaurant and Hari even got to finish Dudley's knickerbocker glory — it hadn't had enough ice cream — while he ate the new one Uncle Vernon bought him. After lunch, they went to the reptile house. Cool and dark, with windows all along the walls. Behind the glass, there are lizards and snakes that crawl and slither over wood and stone. The two boys were excited to see the poisonous cobras and the thick pythons.  
Dudley looks at the largest snake in the zoo disappointed. It's glistening brown body was long enough that it could wrap around a car twice but it was fast asleep. Dudley pushes his nose against glass and whines, "make it move."  
Uncle Vernon taps the glass with his knuckle but it didn't faze the creature in the slightest. "This is boring," Dudley moans and shuffles away.  
Hari took the time to move in front of the tank and looks at the snake with sad eyes. She sympathized with the creature; trapped on display with only the company of stupid people who tried to disturb it all day. At least she got to visit the rest of the Dursley's house despite mostly being confined to her cupboard.  
She watches shocked as the snake opens its eyes and slowly raises its head until it can look Hari in the eyes. It _winks _at her and Hari's mouth drops open in shock. She quickly looks around to see if anyone was seeing the snake. No one was, so she looks back at it and sends it a shy wink.  
Jerking its head towards Hari's cousin and uncle, the snake then raises its eyes to the ceiling. Hari could see that the snake meant:_ "I get that all the time."_  
"It must be really annoying," Hari mumbles, worried the snake couldn't hear her through the glass.  
The snake nods its head vigorously.  
"Where do you come from?" Hari asks curiously, trying to make conversation despite knowing that talking to a snake was bonkers.  
The snake points with its tail at the little sign that sat next to the glass.

** Boa Constrictor, Brazil**

"Fantastic! I'm Brazilian too! Is it nice there?" Hari asks enthusiastically.  
The boa constrictor points to the sign and Hari reads on.

_This specimen was bred in the zoo._

"Oh I see — so you've never been to Brazil?"  
The snake shakes its head when suddenly a loud shout from behind Hari makes them both jump. "DUDLEY! MR. DURSLEY! COME AND LOOK AT THIS SNAKE! YOU WON'T BELIEVE WHAT IT'S DOING!"  
Dudley waddles over as quickly as he could and pushes Hari. "Out of the way."  
Taken by surprise Hari falls hard on the concrete floor. Propping herself up on her elbows the girl glares at her cousin and his friend. One second the two boys were leaning against the glass, the next they were leaping back, howling with horror. Hari gasps when she realizes the glass front of the boa constrictor's tank had vanished. The snake quickly uncoils itself and slithers out onto the floor. People all around them scream and run for the exits.  
Hari can hear, "_Brazil, here I come. . . Thanksss, amiga_," as the snake slithers past her on the floor.  
"But the glass," the reptile house keeper says in shock. "Where did the glass go?"  
Soon the Dursley's, Hari, and Piers were in the zoo director's office, who was apologizing over and over again. Piers and Dudely were spinning tales about the experience. The snake hadn't done anything expect snap playfully at the boys' heels as it passed but Dudley was telling them about how it had nearly bitten off his leg and Piers was swearing it had tried to squeeze him to death. Horrifyingly, when they were all back in Uncle Vernon's car and driving home, Piers had calmed down enough to say, "Hari was talking to it, weren't you, Hari?"  
Hari winces when she sees her uncle's fiery gaze directed at her in the review mirror. She never thought she'd say that she was dreading when Piers would leave but she knew as long as the boy was with them she was safe. But of course, he had to leave and as soon as he was safely out of the house Uncle Vernon turned on her.  
Once they arrived at the Dursleys' house, the man was so angry he couldn't speak. "Go — cupboard — stay — no meals," was all he could manage before collapsing into his armchair.  
Hari just stares up at the dark ceiling of her cupboard as she lays in her little bed. She didn't know how long she had been in there for and until she could guarantee that the Dursleys' were asleep, she couldn't risk sneaking out for food. She was worried Uncle Vernon would spot her and remember to give her an even worse punishment — she found out the next day that he had not forgotten.  
She'd been living in this cupboard for ten, long, miserable years. She could not remember anything besides this life. Well, if she strained her memory far enough, she could remember a flash of green light and burning pain on her forehead. She assumed this memory was from the car crash she and her parents had been in — the car crash that had killed her parents. But even after years of thinking, she could not place what the green light had been.  
She could not remember anything about her parents. The only question the Dursley's had ever answered was what her ethnicity was and that was just for when she had to do the formal documents for school. There were no pictures of her parents in the house. The Dursley's never spoke about them and she was forbidden from asking questions.  
Hari felt pathetic to admit that she used to dream about some unknown family friend coming to get her. Someone to rescue her from the Dursleys'. Obviously, they never did. The Dursleys' were her only family but she swore sometimes strangers knew her. Yes, they were all very strange people but they _knew_ her.   
For example, a tiny man in a violet top hat had bowed to her while she was shopping with Aunt Petunia and Dudley. Aunt Petunia had furiously asked Hari if she knew the man and when she said she didn't, the children were rushed out of the store. Other examples included: a wild-looking old woman dressed in all green whom had waved merrily at her on a bus, a bald man in a purple coat shaking her hand in the street and then walking away, a young boy looking at her scar in amazement and whispering "Hari Potter". Whenever Hari tried to get a closer look at them they seemed to disappear.  
That was all the positive attention Hari had ever gotten. School was as depressing as her home because while she had tried her hardest, she had no friends. There were a few other children that thought she was cool but no one ever acted on it. Everyone knew that Hari Potter was an enemy of Dudley's gang. And nobody went against Dudley's gang. And even worse were the teachers. If they knew anything about how she was treated at home, they never said a word. Never said a thing when they saw the bruises on her arms. Never said a thing when Hari would flinch violently away from any type of touch. Hari wasn’t sure if they just hated her. . . Or if they just didn’t care. And she wasn’t sure what was worse.

She couldn't wait until the day she could leave the Dursleys' house. She didn't care if she was homeless, she had vowed to herself long ago that someday she would make it out of here. And she meant it.


	5. hari's letters

C H A P T E R T H R E E

hari's letters

The great Brazilian boa constrictor escape had earned Hari her longest-ever punishment. By the time she was allowed out of her cupboard her cuts and bruises had healed and it was summer holiday. She was happy school was over but unlike the boa constrictor she could not escape the Dursley's and she had to face Dudley's gang that came to the Dursley house every day. Especially now that Dudley had broken most of his birthday toys. Piers, Dennis, Malcolm, and Gordon were all big and stupid, and naturally, as the biggest and stupidest, Dudley was the leader.  
This was why Hari spent all of her time outside, wandering around and daydreaming about the end of the holidays. This September she would be going to secondary school and normally school wasn't something to be excited about. But this year while she was going to the public school, Stonewall High, Dudley and Piers would be going to the all-boys private school, Smeltings. The very school Uncle Vernon had gone to.  
Dudley thought that Hari going to a public school was hilarious and teased her about it. "They stuff people's head down the toilet the first day at Stonewall. Want to come upstairs and practice?" He taunted.  
"No, thanks. The toilet has never had something as nasty as your head down it — it might get sick." Hari then ran before her cousin could work out the fact that she had insulted him.  
One day in early July, Hari was left at Mrs. Figg's while Aunt Petunia took Dudley to buy his Smelting uniform. Since Mrs. Figg had broken her leg tripping over her cat, she wasn't as fond of them. So she let Hari watch television and gave her stale chocolate cake. Later that evening, Dudley paraded around the living room in his uniform. The Smeltings boys wore maroon tailcoats, orange knickerbockers, and flat straw hats they called boaters. They also carried knobbly sticks, that they used to hit each other when the teachers weren't looking. Such good training for later life.  
As they watched Dudley walk around in the uniform, Uncle Vernon said it was the proudest moment of his life and Aunt Petunia had burst into tears at her "handsome and grown-up, Ickle Dudleykins." Hari just sat in the corner almost breaking her ribs as she tried her hardest not to laugh.  
The next morning when Hari walks into the kitchen she was met with a horrible smell that was coming from a large metal tub in the sink. Looking inside she sees the tub is full of dirty rags soaking in grey water. "What's this?" she asks her Aunt, who tightens her lips as they always did when the girl asked a question.  
"Your new school uniform. I'm dyeing some of Dudley's old things grey for you. I'll look like everyone else's when I've finished," Aunt Petunia snaps.  
Hari didn't dare argue, instead, she just sat down at the table and tried to not think about how bad she was going to look on the first day. She decided not to worry about it. Her clothes had never been nice, always worn out and baggy. Sometimes she thinks about what she would wear if she were able to pick her clothes and how she would style her hair.  
Dudley and Uncle Vernon walk into the kitchen, both wrinkling their noses because of the smell. Uncle Vernon opens his newspaper and Dudley bangs his Smelting stick on the table. They all hear the _click_ of the letter-box and the flop of letters on the doormat.  
"Get the post, Dudley," Uncle Vernon orders not looking up from his paper.  
"Make Hari get it."  
"Get the post, Hari."  
"Make Dudley get it."  
"Poke her with your Smelting stick, Dudley."  
Hari quickly dodges the stick and goes to get the post. There were three things laying on the doormat: a postcard from Uncle Vernon's sister Marge — who was on holiday in the Isle of Wight — and a brown envelope that looked like a bill. But the third envelope captured all of Hari's attention and made the girl's eyes widen. A letter _for Hari._

** _Ms. N. Potter_ **   
** _The Cupboard under the Stairs_ **   
** _4 Privet Drive_ **   
** _Little Whinging_ **   
** _Surrey_ **

Was written across the thick parchment envelope in emerald-green ink. But oddly there was no stamp or return address. Turning the envelope over, she sees a purple wax seal bearing a coat of arms; a lion, eagle, badger, and snake surrounding a large H.  
"Hurry up, girl!" Uncle Vernon shouts from the kitchen. "What are you doing, checking for letter bombs?" He chuckles at his joke.  
Hari walks back to the kitchen, staring at the letter while she hands Uncle Vernon the bill and postcard. She sits down in her seat and slowly opens the yellow envelope. Uncle Vernon rips the bill open and snorts in disgust, then flips over the postcard.  
"Marge's ill. Ate a funny whelk. . ." he informs Aunt Petunia.  
Right as Hari is about to unfold the letter — that was made of the same heavy parchment as the envelope — when Dudley suddenly shouts out, "Dad! Dad, Hari's got something!" The letter is then snatched out of her hands by her uncle.  
"That's _mine_!" Hari shouts, trying to grab it back.  
"Who'd be writing to you?" Uncle Vernon sneers, shaking the letter open with one hand and glances at it. His face turns green and then white as he reads the letter. "P-P-Petunia!" he gasps.  
Dudley tries to grab the letter to read it, but Uncle Vernon holds it out of his reach. Aunt Petunia takes the letter curiously and reads the first line. She looks like she's about to faint as she grabs her throat, "Vernon! Oh my goodness — Vernon!" she exclaims and the two look at each other, seeming like they forgot that Hari and Dudley were still in the room.  
Dudley, not used to being ignored, gives a sharp tap to his father's head with his stick. "I want to read that letter," he says loudly.  
"_I _want to read it. It's _mine_!" Hari says furiously.  
"Get out, both of you," Uncle Vernon croaks while shoving the letter back into the envelope. But Hari did not move.  
"I WANT MY LETTER!" Hari screams.  
"Let me see it!" Dudley demands.  
"OUT!" Uncle Vernon roars, grabbing both children by the back of their necks and throws them out of the kitchen before slamming the door. Hari and Dudley had a furious but silent fight over who would listen through the keyhole. Dudley won, so Hari laid flat on her stomach to listen from the space between the door and the floor.  
Aunt Petunia's voice was quivering as she spoke. "Vernon, look at the address — how could they possibly know where she sleeps? You don't think they're watching the house?"  
"Watching — spying — might be following us," Uncle Vernon mutters wildly.  
"But what should we do, Vernon? Should we write back? Tell them we don't want — " Hari could see the man's black shoes as he paced up and down the kitchen.  
"No. No, we'll ignore it. If they don't get an answer. . . Yes, that's best. . . We won't do anything. . ."  
"But — "  
"I'm not having one in the house, Petunia! Didn't we swear when we took her in we'd stamp out that dangerous nonsense?"

* * *

That evening after Uncle Vernon had gotten back from work, he visited Hari in her cupboard. Something he had _never_ done.  
"Where's my letter? Who's writing to me?" Hari asks as soon as the man had squeezed through the door.  
"No one. It was addressed to you by mistake. I have burned it," Uncle Vernon says shortly.  
"It had my cupboard on it. That was not a mistake," Hari hisses angrily.  
"SILENCE!" Uncle Vernon shouts and Hari flinches back. Her anger made her less scared of the man but she knew that nothing was more dangerous than angry Uncle Vernon. He takes a couple of deep breaths and then forces a smile that looks painful.  
"Er — yes, Hari — about this cupboard. Your aunt and I have been thinking. . . You're really getting a bit big for it. . . We think it might be nice if you moved into Dudley's second bedroom."  
Hari narrows her eyes, "why?" she asks suspiciously.  
"Don't ask questions!" her uncle snaps, his patience has run out. "Take your stuff upstairs, now."  
The Dursleys' house had four bedrooms. One was for Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia, one was for guests, — usually just Uncle Vernon's sister — one where Dudley slept, and one where Dudley kept all his toys and things that couldn't fit in his first bedroom. Hari only needed one trip to get all her belongings up the stairs and into Dudley's extra room. Or rather _her_ room.  
She sits on the bed and looks around the room. Nearly everything was broken. The month-old video camera lies on top of a small, working tank Dudley had once driven over the next-door neighbour's dog; in the corner is Dudley's first-ever television set, which he'd put his foot through when his favourite program had been cancelled; there was a large birdcage, which had once held a parrot that Dudley had swapped at school for a real air rifle — that was up on a shelf with the end all bent because Dudley sat on it. Other shelves were full of books, that were untouched.  
Hari sighs and lays down on the bed as she hears Dudley complaining to his parents downstairs. Yesterday she had wanted nothing more than her own room, but now she would trade it in a heartbeat if it meant she could have her letter.

* * *

The next morning everyone was quiet at the table. Dudley was in shock. He had done everything he could think of — whacking his father with his stick, kicking his mother, throwing his tortoise through the greenhouse roof — and he still didn't have his room back.  
Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia kept looking at each other darkly while Hari just sat in her seat bitterly. She was thinking about how she should have just opened the letter in the hall.  
Uncle Vernon made Dudley get the post when it arrived, he seemed to be trying to be nice to the young girl. He shouted from the door, "There's another one! 'Ms. N. Potter, The Smallest Bedroom, 4 Privet Drive — "  
With a strangled cry, Uncle Vernon jumped from his seat and ran down the hall with Hari right on his heels. Uncle Vernon wrestled Dudley to the ground to get the letter out of his hand, but it was hard as Hari was wrapped around his neck. After a minute of fighting and getting hit by the Smelting stick, Uncle Vernon stood with Hari's letter clutched in his hand, gasping for breath.  
"Go to your cupboard — I mean, your bedroom," the man wheezes at Hari before turning to his son. "Dudley — go — just go."  
Hari spent the rest of the day moving Dudley's stuff out of _her_ room — much to the boy's frustration. As she moved everything she thought about her letter. Whoever sent it knew that she had moved out of her cupboard and they knew she didn't receive her first letter. This meant they'd try again, right? This time she'd be ready, with her plan she was sure she couldn't fail.

Her repaired alarm clock rings at six o'clock the next morning. Hari quickly turns it off and gets dressed. As quiet as a mouse she creeps down the stairs, she couldn't wake the Dursleys. Her plan was to wake up early and wait for the postman man the corner of Privet Drive and get the post from there.  
Her heart beats violently in her chest as she tiptoes across the dark hall towards the front door —  
"AAARRRGGGHHHH!"  
Hari jumps into the air scared out of her mind. She had stepped on something big and squishy on the doormat, something that was apparently alive by the sound of it.  
The upstairs lights clicked on, lighting up the once dark hall. Hari, to her horror, realized that it had been her uncle's face that she had stepped on. The man had been sleeping in front of the door to make sure Hari didn't do exactly what she had planned. He backhands the girl and shouts at her for about half an hour before sending her to make him tea. Hari shuffles into the kitchen, shoulders drooping in despair, gently wiping at the blood that had dripped onto her chin from her split lip — careful not to hurt the swollen and sore skin.  
By the time she returns to her uncle with a cup of tea, the post had arrived and is sitting in his lap. This time, instead of one, there is three yellow envelopes with green ink.  
"I want —" Hari begins, but her uncle cuts her off by tearing the letters into pieces.  
Rather than going to work that day, Uncle Vernon stays home and nails the letter-box shut.  
"See if they can't deliver them they'll just give up," he explains to Aunt Petunia proudly.  
"I'm not sure that'll work, Vernon."  
"Oh, these peoples minds work in strange ways, Petunia, they're not like you and me." Uncle Vernon continues to knock the nails into the door, but this time, squished in his hand is the piece of fruitcake Aunt Petunia had just brought him, instead of the hammer.

On Friday, twelve letters arrive for Hari. Rather than going through the letter-box they were pushed under the door, jammed through the sides, and some were forced through the small window of the downstairs toilet.  
Again, Uncle Vernon stays home and after burning all the letters, he gets out a hammer and boards up the cracks around the front and back doors. This results in no one being able to go outside but he doesn't seem to mind as he hums "Tiptoe Through the Tulips" as he works. Jumping at small noises.

Hari could admit that on Sunday, things got out of hand. Twenty-four letters found their way into the house. They were rolled up and hidden inside each of the two dozen eggs. The poor milkman had been very confused as he handed them to Aunt Petunia through the living room window.  
Uncle Vernon made furious phone calls to the post office and the dairy, trying to figure out who he could complain to. While Aunt Petunia shreds the letters in her food processor.  
"Who on earth wants to talk to _you_ this badly?" Dudley asks Hari in amazement. The girl shrugs, just as amazed.

Sunday morning, Uncle Vernon sits at the breakfast table, tired and ill-looking but happy. "No post on Sundays," he reminds the others cheerfully as he spread marmalade on his newspapers, "no damn letters today —"  
As he speaks something comes flying down the kitchen chimney and hits him on the back of the head. Then thirty or forty more letters come shooting out of the fireplace like bullets. Hari jumps into the air trying to catch one while the Dursleys duck.  
"Out! OUT!"  
Uncle Vernon grabs Hari around the waist and throws her into the hall and when Aunt Petunia and Dudley exit the kitchen, Uncle Vernon slams the door shut. Hari listens sadly as letters bounce off the walls and floor, more still coming.  
"That does it," Uncle Vernon whispers pulling bundles of hair out of his moustache while he attempts to speak calmly. "I want you all back here in five minutes ready to leave. We're going away. Just pack some clothes. No arguments!"  
No one dares to argue with the mad looking man. Ten minutes later they manage to get through the boarded-up doors and speed down the road towards the motorway. Dudley was crying in the back seat after he had been hit around the head by his father for taking too much time trying to pack his television, , and computer in his sports bag.  
They drove and drove. Not even Aunt Petunia asks where they are going. Every now and then Uncle Vernon would take a sharp turn and drive in the opposite direction. "Shake 'em off. . . Shake 'em off," he mutters.  
By nightfall everyone was miserable. They hadn't stopped to eat or have a drink all day and Dudley was howling. The spoiled boy had never been so unhappy. He was hungry, had missed his television programs, and had never gone so long without playing his computer games.  
Thankfully, Uncle Vernon finally stops outside a gloomy-looking hotel on the outskirts of a big city. Dudley and Hari share a room with twin beds that have damp and musty sheets. Dudley snores but Hari stays awake. She sat perched on the windowsill, staring down at the lights of passing cars.

For breakfast the next day they ate stale cornflakes and tinned tomatoes on toast, as they were almost finished the owner of the hotel came over to their table.  
" 'Scuse me, but is one of you Ms. N. Potter? Only I got about an 'undred of these at the front desk," she explains holding up the letter so they could read the green ink:

** _Ms. N. Potter_ **   
** _Room 17_ **   
** _Railview Hotel_ **   
** _Cokeworth_ **

Hari made a grab for the letter but Uncle Vernon slaps her hand out of the way. The woman stares at them.  
"I'll take them," Uncle Vernon says, standing up quickly and following her from the dining room.

* * *

"Wouldn't it be better just to go home, dear?" Aunt Petunia tries to suggest timidly, but Uncle Vernon did not seem to hear her. The other three had no idea what Vernon was trying to look for. He had driven them to the middle of a forest, got out, looked around, shook his head, got back in the car and they began driving again. He did the same thing in fields, halfway across a suspension bridge, and at the top of a multi-storey car park.  
"Daddy's gone mad, hasn't he?" Dudley asks his mother late in the afternoon. Uncle Vernon had parked at the coast, locked them all inside the car, and then disappeared.  
Hari wasn't sure how long he had been gone for but it had started raining. The beat of heavy raindrops on the roof of the car made her tired, but she knew she couldn't sleep with Dudley sniffling next to her.  
"It's Monday," he tells his mother. "The Great Humberto's on tonight. I want to stay somewhere with a _television_."  
The reminder of what day it was made Hari realize something. If today was Monday — which you could trust Dudley to know because of television — then tomorrow was Hari's eleventh birthday. Now, her birthdays were never a cause for celebration around the Dursley house — last year, she had gotten a coat hanger and a pair of Aunt Petunia's old socks — but it was still an occasion. You don't turn eleven every day, now do you?  
Uncle Vernon finally arrived back and he was smiling. He was carrying a long thin package and didn't answer his wife when she asked what he had bought.  
"Found the perfect place! Come on! Everyone out!"  
It was freezing outside of the car, Hari pulled her large coat tighter around her body. Uncle Vernon pointed up to what looked like a large rock out in the sea. Sitting on top of the rock was a miserable shack. Definitely no television.  
Uncle Vernon gleefully claps his hands together. "Storm forecast for tonight! And this gentleman's kindly agreed to lend us his boat!"  
An old man walks up to them and points out to an old rowboat that sat bobbing on the dark water. The old man was toothless and had a wicked grin on his face.  
"I've already got us some rations, so all aboard!" Uncle Vernon shouts enthusiastically.  
If Hari thought that it was cold on land, she was not ready for the absolutely freezing temperature of the boat. Icy sea spray and rain trickled down their necks and the chilly wind painfully whipped in their faces. After what felt like hours on the boat, they finally reached the rock, where Uncle Vernon led the way to the broken-down "house". Hari almost fell multiple times on the slippery wet stone.  
The inside was just as bad as the outside. It smelt strongly of seaweed, cold wind whistled through the gaps in the walls, and the fireplace was damp and empty. Uncle Vernon's rations were just a packet of crisps each and four bananas and when he tried to start a fire the empty crisps packet just smoked and shrivelled up.  
"Could do with some of those letters now, eh?" he says cheerfully.  
He had obviously gone mad if he was in such a good mood while cold, hungry, and miserable. He thought nobody could possibly deliver post to them here, especially with the storm, and Hari agreed but the thought only made her night worse.  
The later it got the strong the storm grew. High waves sprayed water onto the walls and strong winds rattled the dirty windows. Aunt Petunia found mouldy blankets and made a bed for Dudley on the moth-eaten sofa. She and Uncle Vernon left to sleep on the lumpy bed next door and Hari was left to make herself comfortable on the ground with the thinnest, ragged blanket.  
Between the loud sounds of the storm, Dudley's snoring, her rumbling stomach, and the cold, she couldn't sleep. Instead, she laid down watching the lighted dial on Dudley's watch, that was dangling over the sofa edge with his wrist. Ten minutes until her birthday. She laid, wondering if the Dursley's would remember, wondering where the letter person was now.  
_Five minutes_. Hari could hear a creak outside. She hoped the roof wasn't about to cave in, though she might be warmer if it did.  
_Four minutes_. Maybe once they returned to the house on Privet Drive, it would be so full of letters she could sneak one into her room.  
Three minutes. Was the sea really slapping that hard on the rocks?  
Two minutes. What was that funny crunching noise? Were the rocks falling into the sea?  
One minute. Maybe she'd wake Dudley up, just for the sake of annoying him.  
Three. . . Two. . . One. . .  
**BOOM**.  
The whole shack shook and Hari quickly sat straight up, staring at the door. Someone was knocking. Someone was outside, knocking to come in. Who would come to this shack, in the middle on a sea, during a storm, at midnight?


	6. keeper of keys

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not gonna lie my dudes, this chapter's kinda lame :((  
I swear Thursday's chapter will be better!!  
[Also, I didn't have school today and this chapters still pretty late because ya girls been binge-watching Victorious on Netflix, oops.]  
Hagrid is criminally underrated btw. The man deserves the world.  
Anyways, enjoy!!

  
  
  
  
C H A P T E R F O U R  
_keeper of keys_

**BOOM**. They knock again. This time Dudley is jerked awake.  
"Where's the cannon?" he asks dazed.  
There was a crash behind them as Uncle Vernon came skidding into the room holding a rifle in his hands. Hari realizes that's what was in the long, thin package.  
"Who's there?" he shouts at the door. "I warn you — I'm armed!"  
It seems to work as there is a pause. But then SMASH! The door was hit with such force that it broke off the hinges and fell onto the floor. Without the door, in place, Hari could see a giant man. Long, shaggy mane of hair and a wild tangles beard covered most of his face, except for his eyes which were glinting like black beetles.  
The giant manages to squeeze his way into the shack, having to duck so that his head did not hit the ceiling. Once inside he bends down and picks up the door to fit it back into the frame. The storm outside is muted slightly as he turns to look at them.  
"Couldn't make us a cup o' tea, could yeh? It's not been an easy journey. . ." The man says and stalks over to the sofa where Dudley sat frozen in fear. "Budge up, yeh great lump.  
Dudley squeaks and runs to hide behind his mother, who was hiding behind Uncle Vernon.  
"An' here's Hari!" The giant says, eyes crinkling in a smile. "Las' time I saw you, you was only a baby. Yeh looks a lot like yer dad, but yeh've got yer mum's eyes."  
Uncle Vernon lets out a raspy noise. "I demand that you leave at once, sir! You are breaking and entering!"  
"Ah, shut up, Dursley, yeh great prune," the giant says before reaching over the back of the sofa to yank the gun out of Uncle Vernon's hands. He bends it like it's made out of rubber into a knot and throws it into a corner of the room. Uncle Vernon lets out a squeak, like a mouse that's been stepped on.  
"Anyway — Hari," the stranger says turning back to the girl who stood in front of him. "a very happy birthday to yeh. Got summat fer yeh here — I mighta sat on it at some point, but it'll taste all right."  
Reaching into the pocket of his black coat the man pulls out a box. Hari reaches forward and opens the slightly misshaped box. Inside is a large chocolate cake with _Happy Birthday Hari _written across it in shaky green icing.   
Hari looks down at the cake and feels her heart grow warm. She had never had a birthday cake before. She looks up at the man and smiles, "thank you," she says before quickly adding. "But who are you?"  
The giant chuckles. "True, I haven't introduced myself. Rubeus Hagrid, Keeper of Keys and Grounds at Hogwarts." He holds out his enormous hand and when Hari takes it in a handshake he shook her whole arm.  
"What about that tea then, eh?" he asks, rubbing his hands together. "I'd not say no ter summat stronger if yeh've got it, mind."   
When his eyes fall on Uncle Vernon's sad attempt to start a fire he snorts. He bends over the fireplace so Hari couldn't see what he was doing but when he sat back there was a roaring fire. The damp hut was filled with much-needed light and Hari's body was wrapped in warmth. The cold stinging of her toes and fingers lessened.  
Hari watches in amazement as the giant begins taking a wide range of things out of his pockets. A copper kettle, a package of sausages, a poker, a teapot, several chipped mugs, and a bottle of some amber liquid that he took a swig from before starting to make tea. Soon the hut was full of the sound and smell of sizzling sausage, and nobody dared say anything as the giant worked. Dudley did fidget a little when he slid the first six fat, juicy sausages from the poker.   
"Don't touch anything he gives you, Dudley," Uncle Vernon lectures sharply.  
The man chuckles darkly while passing the sausages to Hari. "Yer great puddin' of a son don' need fattenin' anymore, Dursley, don' worry."  
Hari was so hungry that the sausages tasted like the most wonderful thing ever but even as she enjoyed the food, she could not look away from the man. Finally having enough of no one explaining anything to her, she asks herself. "I'm sorry, but I still don't really know who you are."  
The man takes a big gulp of tea before replying. "Call me Hagrid, everyone does. An' like I told yeh, I'm Keeper of Keys at Hogwarts — yeh'll know all about Hogwarts, o' course."  
"Er — no," Hari corrects shyly.  
Hagrid looks scandalized and Hari quickly adds, "I'm sorry."  
"Sorry?" Hagrid barks, turning to look at the Dursleys, who stepped back into the shadows. "It's them as should be sorry! I knew yeh weren't getting yer letters but I never thought yeh wouldn't even know abou' Hogwarts, fer cryin' out loud! Did yeh never wonder where yer parents learned it all?"  
"All what?"  
"ALL WHAT?" Hagrid repeats. "Now wait jus' one second!" Hagrid's anger fills the hut faster than the warmth from the fire had.  
"Do you mean ter tell me," he growls at the Dursleys, "that this girl — this girl! — knows nothin' abou' — about ANYTHING?"   
Hari's face scrunches up. She wasn't stupid, her marks were good.  
"I know _some_ things. I can, you know, do maths and stuff," Hari defends.  
But Hagrid waved her off. "About _our _world, I mean. Yer world. _My _world. _Yer parents' world._"  
Hari sighs. "But what world?"  
Hagrid looked about ready to explode as he yelled, "DURSLEY!" Uncle Vernon shrinks even rather into the shadows, mumbling something Hari couldn't hear.  
"But yeh must know about yer mum and dad. I mean, they're _famous. _You're _famous_."  
"What? My — my mum and dad weren't famous, were they?" Hari asks confused. The Dursley's never talked about her parents but surely something like that would have come up at some point.  
"Yeh don' know . . . yeh don' know . . ." Hagrid runs his fingers through his hair. "Yeh don' know what yeh are?" he concludes.  
"Stop!" Uncle Vernon commands suddenly. Turns out he had some courage in his cowardly body after all. "Stop right there, sir! I forbid you to tell the girl anything!"  
A braver man than Vernon Dursley would have cowered under the look Hagrid gave him. One full of rage and pure hatred.  
"You never told her? Never told her what was in the letter Dumbledore left fer you? I was there! I saw Dumbledore leave it, Dursley! An' you've kept it from her all these years?"  
"Kept _what_ from me?" Hari asks eagerly.  
"STOP! I FORBID YOU!" Uncle Vernon yells panicked and Aunt Petunia gives a gasp of horror.  
"Ah, go boil yer heads, both of yeh," Hagrid says before fully turning to face Hari. "Yer a witch Hari."  
Hari stands in silence. The only sound around her was the sea and the whistling winds.  
"I'm a _what_?"   
"A witch, o' course," Hagrid says, sitting back down on the sofa. "an' a thumpin' good'un, I'd say, once yeh've been trained up a bit. With a mum an' dad like yours, what else would yeh be? An' I reckon it's abou' time yeh read yer letter."  
Hari eagerly takes the yellowish envelope, addressed in emerald-green to Ms. N. Potter, The Floor, Hut-on-the-Rock, The Sea. At long last, she pulls the letter out and reads:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
_of_ WITCHCRAFT _and_ WIZARDRY

Headmaster: Albus Dumbledore   
( _Order of Merlin, First Class, Grand Sorc., Chf. Warlock,  
__Supreme Mugwump, International Confed. of Wizards_ )

Dear Ms. Potter,

We are pleased to inform you that you have been accepted at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Please find enclosed a list of all necessary books and equipment.  
Term begins on September 1. We await your owl by no later than July 31. 

Yours sincerely,

Minerva McGonagall,  
_Deputy Headmistress_

A million questions go through Hari's head and she has no idea where to start. She stammers for a few minutes before saying, "What does it mean, they await my owl?"  
"Gallopin' Gorgons, that reminds me," Hagrid says, facepalming and from yet another pocket inside his overcoat, he pulls an owl, a long quill, and a roll of parchment. Tongue between his teeth as he writes a note that Hari could read:

  
_Dear Professor Dumbledore,_   
_Given Hari her letter._   
_Taking her to buy her things tomorrow._   
_Weather's horrible. Hope you're well. _   
** _Hagrid._  
**

  
Hagrid then rolls his note up and gives it to the owl, who holds it in its beak. He walks to the door and throws the owl out into the storm. He then walks back like it was as normal as talking on the phone.  
Hari opens her mouth to speak but closes it.  
"Where was I?" Hagrid asks. But Uncle Vernon, still scared-looking, moves into the light of the fire.  
"She's not going."  
Hagrid grunts. "I'd like ter see a great Muggle like you stop her," he says sarcastically.  
"A what?" Hari asks interested.  
"A Muggle. It's what we call nonmagic folk like them. An' it's your bad luck you grew up in a family o' the biggest Muggles I ever laid eyes on."  
"We swore when we took her in we'd put a stop to that rubbish. Swore we'd stamp it out of her! Witch indeed!"  
"You _knew!" _Hari yells. "You _knew _I'm a — a witch?  
"Knew!" Aunt Petunia suddenly shrieks. "_Knew!_ Of course, we knew! How could you not be, my dratted sister being what she was? Oh, she got a letter just like that and disappeared off to that — that _school — _and came home every holiday with her pockets full of frog spawn, turning teacups into rats. I was the only one who saw her for what she was — a freak! But for my mother and father, oh no, it was Lily this and Lily that, they were proud of having a witch in the family!"  
She stopped to take a deep breath and then continues ranting on. This was obviously something she had been wanting to say for years.  
"Then she met that Potter at school and they left and got married and had you, and of course I knew you'd be just the same, just as strange, just as — as — _abnormal — _and then, if you please, she went and got herself blown up and we got landed with you!"  
Hari's face turned white. "Blown up? You told me they died in a car crash!"  
"CAR CRASH!" Hagrid roars, jumping up so angry that the Dursley's shuffled back to their corner. "How could a car crash kill Lily an' James Potter? It's an outrage! A scandal! Hari Potter not knowin' her own story when every kid in our world knows her name!"  
"But why? What happened?" Hari urges.  
The anger on Hagrid's face turned anxious. "I never expected this. I had no idea, when Dumbledore told me there might be trouble gettin' hold of yeh, how much yeh didn't know. Ah, Hari, I don' know if I'm the right person ter tell yeh — but someone's gotta — yeh can't go off ter Hogwarts not knowin'."   
Hagrid turns to the Dursley and gives them a dirty look.  
"Well, it's best yeh know as much as I can tell yeh — mind, I can't tell yeh everythin', it's a great myst'ry, parts of it. . . "   
Hagrid looks into the fire for a moment before he began to tell the story. "It begins, I supposed, with — with a person called — but it's incredible yeh don't know his name, everyone in our world knows —"  
"Who?"   
"Well — I don' like sayin' the name if I can help it. No one does."  
"Why not?"  
"Gulpin' gargoyles, Hari, people are still scared. Blimey, this is difficult. See, there was this wizard who went . . . bad. As bad as you could go. Worse. Worse than worse. His name was . . ." Hagrid tried but no words came out.   
"Could you write it down?" Hari suggests trying to be helpful.  
"Nah — can't spell it. All right — _Voldemort_. Don' make me say it again. Anyway, this — this wizard, about twenty years ago now, started lookin' fer followers. Got 'em, too — some were afraid, some just wanted a bit o' his power, 'cause he was gettin' himself power, all right. Dark days, Hari. Didn't know who ter trust, didn't dare get friendly with strange wizards or witches . . . terrible things happened. He was takin' over. 'Course, some stood up to him — an' he killed 'em. Horribly. One o' the only safe places left was Hogwarts. Reckon Dumbledore's the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of. Didn't dare try takin' the school, not jus' then, anyway.  
"Now, yer mum an' dad were as good a witch an' wizard as I ever knew. Head boy an' girl at Hogwarts in their day! Suppose the myst'ry is why You-Know-Who never tried to get 'em on his side before . . . probably knew they were too close ter Dumbledore ter want anythin' ter do with the Dark Side.   
"Maybe he thought he could persuade 'em . . . maybe he just wanted 'em outta the way. All anyone knows is, he turned up in the village where you was all living, on Halloween ten years ago. You was just a year old. He came ter yer house an' — an' —"   
Hagrid pulls out a dirty, handkerchief and blew his nose loudly.  
"Sorry, but it's that sad — knew yer mum an' dad, an' niver people yeh couldn't find — anyway. . . You-Know-Who killed 'em. An' then — an' this is the real myst'ry of the thing — he tried to kill you, too. Wanted ter make a clean job of it, I suppose, or maybe he just liked killin' by then. But he couldn't do it. Never wondered how you got that mark on yer forehead? That was no ordinary cut. That's what yeh get when a powerful, evil curse touches yeh — took care of yer mum an' dad an' yer house, even — but it didn't work on you, an' that's why yer famous, Hari. No one ever lived after he decided ter kill 'em, no one except you, an' he'd killed some o' the best witches an' wizards of the age — the McKinnons, the Bones, the Prewetts — an' you was only a baby, an' you lived."   
Hari felt a dull pain in her head as the story can to an end. The blinding green light, she had remembered before, came into focus, more clearly than it had ever been before. But for the first time she remembered something different — a high, cold, cruel laugh rang through her ears.  
Hagrid watches the girl sadly.  
"Took yeh from the ruined house myself, on Dumbledore's orders. Brought yeh ter this lot . . ."  
"Load of old tosh," Uncle Vernon says making Hari jump. She had forgotten the Dursley's were there and what was worse was that Uncle Vernon seemed to have gotten back his courage as he glared at Hagrid, fists clenched.  
"Now, you listen here, girl," he snarls, "I accept there's something strange about you, probably nothing a few more good beatings couldn't cure — and as for all this about your parents, well, they were weirdos, no denying it, and the world's better off without them in my opinion — asked for all they got, getting mixed up with these wizarding types — just what I expected, always knew they'd come to a sticky end —"  
Before he could continue Hagrid jumps up from the sofa and takes out a pink umbrella from inside his coat. He points it at Uncle Vernon and says, in a cold voice. "I'm warning you, Dursley — I'm warning you — one more word . . ."   
At the confrontation Uncle Vernon, once again, loses his courage and backs up into the wall.  
"That's better," Hagrid says, still breathing heavily in anger and sits back down. Hari still had a lot of questions and the story only added more.  
"But what happened to Vol-, sorry — I mean, You-Know-Who?"  
"Good question, Hari. Disappeared. Vanished. Same night he tried ter kill you. Makes yeh even more famous. That's the biggest myst'ry, see . . . he was gettin' more an' more powerful — why'd he go?  
"Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die. Some say he's still out there, bidin' his time, like, but I don' believe it. People who was on his side came back ter ours. Some of 'em came outta kinda trances. Don' reckon they could've done if he was comin' back.   
"Most of us reckon he's still out there somewhere but lost his powers. Too weak to carry on. 'Cause somethin' about you finished him, Hari. There was somethin' goin' on that night he hadn't counted on — I dunno what it was, no one does — but somethin' about you stumped him, all right."   
Hagrid looked at Hari with warmth and respect, but Hari only felt like this had all been a big mistake. Her? A witch? How? Not only that but she was supposed to believe she had defeated the greatest sorcerer in the world. She decides to voice her thoughts.  
"Hagrid," she says quietly. "There must have been a mistake. I can't be a witch."  
Hagrid lets out a chuckle. "Not a witch, eh? Never made things happen when you was scared or angry?"  
Hari looks into the flicker of the flames. All the odd things that happened around her. They _did _all happen when she was upset or angry. She looks back at Hagrid and smiles only to find Hagrid already beaming at her.  
"See? Hari Potter, not a witch — " he says scoffing at the ridiculous idea. "You'll be right famous at Hogwarts."  
But Uncle Vernon wasn't going to let that happen without a fight.  
"Haven't I told you she's not going?" he hisses. "She's going to Stonewall High and she'll be grateful for it. I've read those letters and she needs all sorts of rubbish — spell books and wands and —"  
"If he wants ter go, a great Muggle like you won't stop her," Hagrid growls. "Stop Lily an' James Potter's daughter goin' ter Hogwarts! Yer mad. Her name's been down ever since she was born. She's off ter the finest school of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Seven years there and she won't know herself. She'll be with youngsters of her own sort, fer a change, an' she'll be under the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Albus Dumbled—"   
"I AM NOT PAYING FOR SOME CRACKPOT OLD FOOL TO TEACH HER MAGIC TRICKS!" Uncle Vernon yells.  
But it seems insulting the headmaster had pushed Hagrid past his limit. Hagrid grabs his umbrella and whirls it over his head, "NEVER — INSULT — ALBUS — DUMBLEDORE — IN — FRONT — OF — ME!" He thunders and brings his umbrella down through the air to point at Dudley. With a flash of violet light, a firecracker sound, and a sharp squeal, Dudley was jumping around holding his bottom, screaming in pain. When he turned away from Hari she could see a curly pig's tail poking through his trousers.  
Hari let out a laugh as Uncle Vernon shouts in rage before pulling his son and wife into the other room, slamming the door behind them. Hagrid strokes his beard as he looks down at his umbrella.   
"Shouldn'ta lost me temper," he reflects, "but it didn't work anyway. Meant ter turn him into a pig, but I suppose he was so much like a pig anyway there wasn't much left ter do."   
He glances over at Hari who was watching him with admiration in her eyes. "Be grateful if yeh didn't mention that ter anyone at Hogwarts. I'm — er — not supposed ter do magic, strictly speakin'. I was allowed ter do a bit ter follow yeh an' get yer letters to yeh an' stuff — one o' the reasons I was so keen ter take on the job —"  
"Why can't you do magic?"   
"Oh, well — I was at Hogwarts meself but I — er — got expelled, ter tell yeh the truth. In me third year. They snapped me wand in half an' everything. But Dumbledore let me stay on as gamekeeper. Great man, Dumbledore."   
"Why were you expelled?"  
"It's gettin' late and we've got lots ter do tomorrow," Hagrid says loudly, obviously not wanting to talk a bout it. "Gotta get up ter town, get all yer books an' that." He took off his thick black coat and threw it to Hari  
"You can kip under that," he said. "Don' mind if it wriggles a bit, I think I still got a couple o' dormice in one o' the pockets."


	7. diagon alley

  
C H A P T E R F I V E  
  
**diagon alley**

When Hari woke up she could tell it was late morning from the way the light hit her eyelids. But she was determined to keep her eyes shut. "_It was just a dream_," she tells herself firmly. "_I dreamed a giant called Hagrid came to tell me I was going to a school for witches. And now when I open my eyes I'll be in my cupboard_."  
The thought of it all being a dream saddened her immensely but how could she, Hari Potter, be a witch? That was preposterous. She was broken out of her thoughts by a loud tapping noise, that she assumed to be Aunt Petunia trying to wake her up. But she didn't want to open her eyes. The dream was such a nice one.  
Tap. Tap. Tap.  
Hari groans, "Okay, I'm up." She sits up and feels something heavy fall off of her. She looks down in shock and sees Hagrid's black coat. She looks over to Hagrid's sleeping body on the sofa, which was now collapsed. The hut was full of light now that the storm was over and an owl was tapping its claw on the window. It held a newspaper in its beak.  
Hari quickly jumps to her feet, happiness fills her whole body and she feels light as a feather. She runs to the window and yanks it open, allowing for the owl to swoop in and drop the newspaper on Hagrid. Hari watched fascinated as the owl sat on the floor and started attacking Hagrid's coat.  
"Oh no, please don't do that," she begs, trying to wave the owl out of the way but it snaps its beak at her fiercely. "Hagrid! There's an owl —"  
"Pay him," Hagrid grumbles.  
"What?"  
"He wants payin' fer deliverin' the paper. Look in the pockets."  
When Hari picks up the coat she was deeply confused. Hagrid's coat had what seemed like hundreds of pockets: some with keys, some with balls of string and teabags. After a couple of minutes of searching Hari, finally, pulls out a handful of strange-looking coins.  
"Give him five Knuts," Hagrid instructs sleepily.  
"Knuts?"  
"The little bronze ones."  
Hari carefully counts out five of the bronze coins and puts them into the small leather pouch that the owl wore on his leg. Happy with the transaction, the owl flies off through the open window.  
"Best be off, Hari, lots ter do today, gotta get up ter London an' buy all yer stuff fer school," Hagrid explains as he yawns loudly and stretches.  
Hari turns over the wizard coins as a feeling of dread washes over her. "Um — Hagrid?"  
"Mm?" Hagrid acknowledges as he shoves his feet into his large boots.  
"I haven't got any money. . ."  
"Don't worry about that," Hagrid stands and scratches his head. "D'yeh think yer parents didn't leave yeh anything?"  
"Well. . . Aunt Petunia never said anything about it."  
"Those Muggles don' know 'bout yer inheritance, girl! Nah, first stop fer us is Gringotts. Wizards' bank. Have a sausage, they're not bad cold — an' I wouldn' say no teh a bit o' yer birthday cake, neither."  
"Wizards have banks?"  
"Just the one. Gringotts. Run by goblins."  
Hari almost drops the bit of sausage she was holding as she gasps, "_Goblins!_"  
"Yeah — so yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it, I'll tell yeh that. Never mess with goblins, Hari. Gringotts is the safest place in the world fer anything yeh want ter keep safe — 'cept maybe Hogwarts. As a matter o' fact, I gotta visit Gringotts anyway fer Dumbledore. Hogwarts business.” Hagrid draws himself up proudly. “He usually gets me ter do important stuff fer him. Fetchin’ you — gettin’ things from Gringotts — knows he can trust me, see. "  
"That's amazing," Hari says in awe and Hagrid looks proud. Hagrid looks down at Hari, who was wearing the same thing as yesterday. Ripped black leggings under a thin dark grey dress, with an army green extremely oversized duffel coat. Her small feet swallowed up by bulky boots. "Got everythin'? Come on, then."  
Hari follows Hagrid out of the hut. The sun reflects beautifully off the sea but Hari was too busy looking around for another boat. "How did you get here?" the girl asks.  
"Flew."  
"_Flew?_"  
“Yeah — but we’ll go back in this. Not s’pposed ter use magic now I’ve got yeh.” They sat in the boat, but it was unbalanced because of the weight difference between the two.  
“Seems a shame ter row, though,” Hagrid thinks out loud before giving the young girl another of his sideways looks. “If I was ter — er — speed things up a bit, would yeh mind not mentionin’ it at Hogwarts?”  
“Of course not,” Hari reassures him, both eager to see more magic and to go to Gringotts. Hagrid pulls out the pink umbrella again and taps the side of the boat twice, and before Hari knew it they were off towards land.  
"Why would you be mad to try and rob Gringotts?" Hari asks the man curiously. This new world was so interesting and Hari wanted to know everything about it.  
"Spells — enchantments," Hagrid explains while unfolding his newspaper. "They say there's dragons guardin' the high-security vaults. And then yeh gotta find yer way — Gringotts is hundreds of miles under London, see. Deep under the Underground. Yeh'd died of hunger tryin' ter get out, even if yeh did manage ter get yer hands on summat."  
Once Hari saw that Hagrid was reading the newspaper she immediately stopped talking. Even though it was hard because she had so many questions, Uncle Vernon had ingrained into her head not to speak to someone while they read. What started as yelling at her when she spoke turned into hits and getting her breakfast taken away.  
"Ministry o' Magic messin' things up as usual," Hagrid mutters, turning the page.  
"There's a Ministry of Magic?" Hari says before she could stop herself.  
"'Course. They wanted Dumbledore fer Minister, o' course, but he'd never leave Hogwarts, so old Cornelius Fudge got the job. Bungler if ever there was one. So he pelts Dumbledore with owls every morning, askin fer advice."  
"What does the Ministry of Magic do?"  
"Well, their main job is to keep it from the Muggles that there's still witches an' wizards up an' down the country."  
"Why?"  
"_Why_? Blimey, Hari, everyone'd be wantin' magic solutions to their problems. Nah, we’re best left alone."  
As he finishes his last sentence the boat bumps gently into the harbour wall and Hagrid folds up his newspaper,_ The Dailey Prophet_. The two climb up the stone steps and onto the street.  
The people who pass them all stare at Hagrid as they walk towards the station and Hari couldn't blame them. Not only was he twice as tall as anyone else, but he kept pointing at perfectly ordinary things and saying rather loudly, "See that, Hari? Things these Muggles dream up, eh?"  
Hari had to almost run to keep up with the giant's large strides. "You mentioned _dragons_ before. They have those at Gringotts?"  
"Well, so they say. Crikey, I'd like a dragon," Hagrid says wistfully.  
"You'd _like _one?"  
"Wanted one ever since I was a kid — here we go."  
They reach the station and there was a train to London in five minutes, _perfect_. Hagrid pushes notes into Hari's hands so she could buy their tickets as he didn't understand "Muggle money".  
Once they were on the train Hagrid and Hari sat side by side, creating an odd contrast. While Hagrid took up two seats with his head almost hitting the ceiling, Hari sat next to him, barely taking up half the seat with her legs swinging a couple of inches off the ground.  
"Still got yer letter, Hari?" Hagrid asks her. He was knitting what looks like a canary-yellow circus tent.  
Reaching into her pocket she pulls the envelope out and shows it to him. "Good. There's a list there of everything yeh need."  
Hari unfolds the second piece of paper that she hadn't noticed the night before and began to read it:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL  
of WITCHCRAFT and WIZARDRY

** _uniform_ **

First year students will require:

  1. Three sets of plain work robes (black)
  2. One plain pointed hat (black) for day wear
  3. One pair of protective gloves (dragon hide or similar)
  4. One winter cloak (black, silver fastenings)

_Please note that all pupils' clothes should carry name tags_

** _set books_ **

All students should have a copy of each other follow:

_The Standard Book of Spells (Grade 1)  
_ by Miranda Goshawk  
_A History of Magic  
_ by Bathilda Bagshot  
_Magical Theory  
_ by Adalbert Waffling  
_A Beginners’ Guide to Transfiguration  
_ by Emeric Switch  
_One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi  
_ by Phyllida Spore  
_Magical Drafts and Potions  
_ by Arsenius Jigger  
_Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them  
_ by Newt Scamander  
_The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection_  
by Quentin Trimble

** _other equipment_ **

1 wand  
1 cauldron (pewter, standard size 2)  
1 set glass or crystal phials  
1 telescope  
1 set brass scales

Students may also bring an owl **OR** a cat **OR** a toad

PARENTS ARE REMINDED THAT FIRST YEARS  
ARE NOT ALLOWED THEIR OWN BROOMSTICKS

"Can we really buy all this in London?" Hari asks amazed.

"If yeh know where to go."

* * *

Going to London was as new of an experience as magic for Hari. Hagrid seems to know where he was going, though it was obvious he wasn't used to getting there like this. He got stuck in the ticket barrier on the Underground and complained loudly that the seats were too small, trains too slow.  
"I don't know how the Muggles manage without magic," he says as they climb the broken escalator that let to the road lined with shops and crowded with people. Thankfully, Hagrid's big body parts the crowd easily, so all Hari had to do was stay close behind him. They pass book shops and music stores, hamburger bars and cinemas, but nowhere that looked as if it could sell you a magic wand. Just an ordinary street with ordinary people. Hari found it hard to believe there was really piles of wizard gold beneath them. Everything that had happened was hard to believe, to be honest.  
"This is it," Hagrid says suddenly stopping, "the Leaky Cauldron. It's a famous place."  
The pub was tiny and grubby looking and if Hagrid hadn't pointed it out Hari would have just walked past it. The crowds of people also didn't seem to notice it, eyes sliding over it completely as if they couldn't see the Leaky Cauldron at all.  
Hagrid walks into the pub and Hari hesitantly follows after him. It was as dark and shabby as the outside would lead you to believe. There were a few old women sitting in the corner, drinking from tiny glasses. A little man in a top hat was talking to the old bartender, who looked like a toothless walnut. As soon as the two of them walk in the chatter stops. Everyone waves and smiles at Hagrid and the bartender reaches for a glass, saying, "The usual, Hagrid?"  
"Can't, Tom, I'm on Hogwarts business," Hagrid explains, clapping his hand on Hari's shoulder -- her knees buckle slightly under his strength.  
"Good Lord," the bartender whispers in amazement, looking at Hari, "is this — can this be — ?"  
The pub had suddenly gone still and silent.  
"Bless my soul," he whispers. "Hari Potter. . . What an honour." The man hurries out from behind the bar and seizes the girl's hand. Hari watches him in shock, he had tears in his eyes.  
"Welcome back, Ms. Potter, welcome back."  
"T - Thank you," Hari says, not sure what else to say. Everyone was staring at her and Hagrid was beaming at her proudly.  
Then all at once, it seemed every chair in the Leaky Cauldron had been abandoned as Hari found herself shaking hands with dozens of people.  
“Doris Crockford, Ms. Potter, can’t believe I’m meeting you at last.”  
“So proud, Ms. Potter, I’m just so proud.”  
“Always wanted to shake your hand — I’m all of a flutter.”  
“Delighted, Ms. Potter, just can’t tell you, Diggle’s the name, Dedalus Diggle.”  
Hari let out a gasp of recognition. “I know you! You bowed to me once in a shop” she says and Dedalus Diggle is overwhelmed with emotion.  
“She remembers!” he cries out, looking around at everyone. “Did you hear that? She remembers me!”  
Hari shook hands again and again. Doris Crockford kept getting back in line.  
A pale young man made his way forward, very nervously. One of his eyes was twitching. “Professor Quirrell!” Hagrid greets. “Hari, Professor Quirrell will be one of your teachers at Hogwarts.”  
“P-P-Potter,” stammered Professor Quirrell, grasping her hand, “c-can’t t-tell you how p-pleased I am to meet you.” “What sort of course do you teach, Professor?”  
“D-Defense Against the D-D-Dark Arts,” the man mumbles out begrudgingly. “N-not that you n-need it, eh, P-P-Potter?” He laughs nervously. “You’ll be g-getting all your equipment, I suppose? I’ve g-got to p-pick up a new b-book on vampires, m-myself.”  
That was all the man could say to her before the others got angry that he was "keeping Hari all to himself". It had taken almost ten minutes to get away from them all.  
"Must get on — lots ter buy. Come on, Hari."  
Doris Crockford shakes Hari's hand one last time and then Hagrid leads her to the back of the pub and out into a small courtyard, that held bins and weeds.  
“Told yeh, didn’t I? Told yeh you was famous. Even Professor Quirrell was tremblin’ ter meet yeh — mind you, he’s usually tremblin’.”  
"He's always that nervous  
"Oh, yeah. Poor bloke. Brilliant mind. He was fine while he was studyin’ outta books but then he took a year off ter get some firsthand experience. . . . They say he met vampires in the Black Forest, and there was a nasty bit o’ trouble with a hag — never been the same since. Scared of the students, scared of his own subject — now, where’s me umbrella?”  
While Hari was thinking about vampires, Hagrid was counting bricks in the wall above the bins.  
"Three up. . . Two across. . ." he mutters before finding what he was looking for. "Right, stand back, Hari," he instructs, tapping three times with his umbrella.  
The brick he touched begins to wriggle, a small hole appearing in the middle that grew bigger and bigger until it was an archway. Through the archway was a cobbled street that twists and turns out of sight.  
"Welcome to Diagon Alley," Hagrid introduces, smiling at that pure fascination that was written all over the small girl's face.  
They step through and behind them Hari watches the archway turn back into a solid wall. The nearest shop had a stack of cauldrons outside of it and a hanging sign that said: Cauldrons — All Sizes — Copper, Brass, Pewter, Silver — Self-Stirring — Collapsible.  
"Yeah, you'll be needin' one, but we gotta get yer money first," Hagrid says and they begin to walk through Diagon Alley. Hari's head was turning in all directions as they walk past shops and people. Shops selling: owls, broomsticks, robes, telescopes and silver instruments Hari didn't understand, barrels of bat spleens and eels' eyes, tottering piles of spell books, quills, and rolls of parchment, potion bottles, globes of the moon. . .  
"Gringotts," Hagrid says as they reach a snowy white building that towered over the little shops around it. Beside the bronze doors, wearing a uniform of scarlet and gold was —  
"Yeah, that’s a goblin," Hagrid says quietly as they walk up the stone steps towards him. The goblin stood a head shorter than Hari with a clever face, pointed beard and very long fingers and feet. He bows as they pass through the doors, only to be met with another pair of silver doors. Engraved on them was:

> Enter, stranger, but take heed  
Of what awaits the sin of greed,  
For those who take, but do not earn,  
Must pay most dearly in their turn.  
So if you seek beneath our floors  
A treasure that was never yours,  
Thief, you have been warned, beware  
Of finding more than treasure there.

"Like I said, yeh'd be mad ter try an' rob it," Hagrid repeats.  
A pair of goblins bows to them as they go through the doors and they enter a large marble hall. Hundreds of goblins sit on high stools behind a long counter, scribbling in large ledgers, weighing coins in brass scales examining precious stones through eyeglasses. There were too many doors to count leading out of the hall and goblins were leading people in and out of them.  
"Morning," Hagrid greets after they walk up to a free goblins counter. "We've come ter take some money outta Ms. Nahara Potter's safe."  
"You have her key, sir?"  
"Got it here somewhere." Hagrid begins emptying his pockets onto the counter, scattering mouldy dog treats over the goblins book of numbers. The goblin wrinkles his nose in displeasure.  
"Got it," Hagrid says, at last, holding up a tiny golden key.  
The goblin looks at it closely. "That seems to be in order.  
"An' I've also got a letter here from Professor Dumbledore. It's about You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen."  
The goblin reads the letter carefully before speaking. "Very well," he hands the letter back, "I will have someone take you down to both vaults. Griphook!"  
Griphook was yet another goblin. Hagrid and Hari follow him towards a door leading out of the hall. "What's the You-Know-What in vault seven hundred and thirteen?" Hari asks curiously.  
"Can't tell yeh that, very secret. Hogwarts business. Dumbledore's trusted me. More'n my job's worth ter tell yeh that."  
Griphook held the door open and Hari was surprised to see that rather than more marble, they step into a narrow stone passageway lit by flaming torches. It slops down and had little railway tracks on the floor. Griphook whistles and a small cart comes hurtling down the tracks. They all manage to squeeze in with some difficulty and then they set off.  
Hari has never been on a rollercoaster but this was what she assumes it would feel like. They speed down a maze of twisting passages that were impossible to remember and it was done completely by the cart -- Griphook was not steering. Hari thinks she saw a dragon but they had moved too quickly for her to be sure. Looking over at Hagrid, his face was green and he looks like he was going to be sick.  
Thankfully, the cart stops before that could happen. Hagrid gets out and leans against a wall to stop his knees from shaking. Griphook unlocks the small door in the passage wall and green smoke comes billowing out. But as it clears out it reveals mounds upon mounds of gold, silver, and bronze coins — Knuts.  
"All yours," Hagrid smiles and Hari gasps.  
All the times of never having anything of her own. All the times of only wearing second-hand clothing. All the times she wanted something she knew she could never have. After all those times it turns out she had a fortune buried under London.  
Hagrid helps the girl pile some of it into a bag. "The gold ones are Galleons. Seventeen silver Sickles to a Galleon and twenty-nine Knuts to a Sickle, it's easy enough," Hagrid explains. "Right that should be enough fer a couple o' terms, we'll keep the rest safe for yeh." He turns to Griphook. "Vault seven hundred and thirteen now, please, and can we go more slowly?"  
"One speed only.  
This time they went even deeper into the tunnels, the air becomes colder and colder as they were thrown around tight corners. When they go rattling over an underground ravine, Hari leans over the side to try to see the bottom, Hagrid groans and pulls her back by the scruff of her neck.  
Vault seven hundred and thirteen had no keyhole.  
"Stand back," Griphook says firmly. He strokes the door gently with a long finger and it melts away.  
“If anyone but a Gringotts goblin tried that, they’d be sucked through the door and trapped in there,” Griphook explains.  
"How often do you check for people?" Hari asks.  
"About once every ten years," the goblins face was spread in a nasty grin.  
Hari leans forward to look into the top security vault, she wasn't sure what she was expecting but it certainly wasn't a small little package wrapped in brown paper sitting on the floor. Hagrid carefully picks it up and puts it into one of his pockets. Hari knew better than to ask, even as curiosity ate away at her.  
"Come on, back in this infernal cart, and don't talk to me on the way back, it's best if I keep me mouth shut." Hagrid didn't have to tell her twice.

* * *

Walking out of Gringotts with more money than she had ever seen in her life gave her an extra pep in her step.  
"Might as well get yer uniform," Hagrid says, nodding over towards Madam Malkin's Robes for All Occasions. "Listen, Hari, would yeh mind if I slipped off fer a pick-me-up in the Leaky Cauldron? I hate them Gringotts carts." Hari felt bad looking at his still sick looking face, so she enters the robe shop alone, trying to stop herself from shaking with anxiety.  
Madam Malkin was a short, smiley witch dressed all in mauve. "Hogwarts, dear?" she asks before Hari could even start speaking. "Got a lot here — a young man being fitted up just now, in fact."  
In the back of the shop stood a boy -- around the same age as Hari -- who was having black robes pinned up. He had platinum blond hair, icy grey eyes and the palest skin she had ever seen on a living person. His hair was slicked back and the way he held himself with such confidence had Hari watching him in awe.  
Madam Malkin positions Hari onto a stool next to him and Hari tries to make herself as small as possible. This was the first wizard she was meeting that was her age and from what she heard they would be going to school together. She did not want to make a bad impression.  
"Would you take your jacket off, dear?" Madam Malkin asks kindly. Hari knew she needed to so that they could tailor the robes properly but she felt self-conscious. She quickly shrugs it off and the woman slips a long robe over her head. Hari prays that the boy hadn't seen the scars that rested high on her arms, but she knew that they stuck out against her dark skin.  
"Hello," the boy greets. "Hogwarts, too?"  
"Yes," Hari smiles sheepishly. If he had seen the scars he wasn't going to mention it and Hari appreciated it.  
"My father's next door buying my books and mother's up the street looking at the wands," the boy explains without prompt. "Then I'm going to drag them off to look at racing brooms. I don't see why first years can't have their own. I think I'll convince my father to get me one and I'll smuggle it in somehow."  
Hari was taken back by the boy's rambling. She was certain she had misread the boy. His aura of confidence seemed to be a façade that was created to hide how nervous _he _was, but his bragging words and rambling gave him away. Hari couldn't understand why he would be nervous to speak with _her_, but she got the vague feeling he was trying to impress her.  
"I'm not sure that would be a good idea," Hari says with a small laugh.  
"Hmm, I suppose. Have _you_ got your own broom?" the boy asks.  
"Oh, no," Hari responds feeling embarrassed.  
"Play Quidditch at all?"  
Hari shakes her head, not knowing what the strange word meant.  
"_I _do — Father says it's a crime if I'm not picked to play for my House, and I must say, I agree. Know what House you'll be in yet?"  
"No. . . Do you?" Hari asks trying to distract him from the fact she had no idea what he was talking about. She really should have gotten Hagrid to explain everything more.  
"It's all right if you don't, no one really knows until they get there, do they, but I know I'll be in Slytherin, all our family have been — imagine being in Hufflepuff, I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"  
"I don't think I'd _leave_ Hogwarts, but I'm sure you'll be a lovely Slytherin," Hari says, rephrasing his questions into answers and just repeating things he said. From the way he smiles widely at her, she didn't think he realizes what she was doing.  
"I say, look at that man!" the boy exclaims suddenly, nodding towards the front window. Hagrid was standing there grinning at Hari and pointing to two large ice creams, showing why he couldn't come into the shop.  
"That's Hagrid," Hari tells him excitedly. She finally knew something he didn't. "He works at Hogwarts."  
"Oh, I've heard of him. He's a sort of servant, isn't he?"  
"He's the gamekeeper," Hari corrects, not liking the tone the boy had in regards to Hagrid.  
"Yes, exactly. I heard he's a sort of _savage_ — lives in a hut on the school grounds and every now and then he gets drunk, tries to do magic, and ends up setting fire to his bed."  
Hari looks away from the boy coldly. "I think he's brilliant."  
"Oh." The boy's face falls at the change in her demeanour. He could tell he had offended her. "Why is he with you? Where are your parents?" he asks trying to change the subject.  
"They're dead," Hari answers shortly looking down at the ground.  
"Oh, sorry," the boy internally winces, realizing he had changed it to a much worse topic. "They were _our_ kind, weren't they?"  
"They were a wizard and a witch if that's what you mean."  
“I really don’t think they should let the other sort in, do you? They’re just not the same, they’ve never been brought up to know our ways. Some of them have never even heard of Hogwarts until they get the letter, imagine. I think they should keep it in the old wizarding families," the boy says and while Hari didn't understand the full weight his words carried, she knew that he had just indirectly said she should not be able to go to Hogwarts. "What's your surname anyways?"  
Before Hari could answer, Madam Malkin says, "That's you done, my dear." Hari thanks the women and jumps off the footstool.  
"I think that Hogwarts is a school that _teaches magic_. And those who come from Muggle families need that much more than people who come from 'old wizarding families.' " Hari accidentally rants and before she realizes it she's glaring at the now wide-eyed pale boy. She quickly turns to walk away but stops as she remembered his last question.  
"And my name's Potter, Hari Potter," she says finally and rushes out the shop's doors to meet Hagrid.  
The boy watches Hari leave, his pale cheeks now pink. He looks at Madam Malkin in bewilderment as he takes in what she said. "Did she say Hari _Potter?_"

* * *

Hari was quiet as she ate the chocolate ice cream Hagrid bought for her.  
"What's up?" Hagrid asks her, sensing the big difference in her mood.  
"Nothing," she lies. Her mood didn't stay down for long, as she was cheered up when they found a bottle of ink that changed colours as you wrote while buying parchment and quills.  
As they left the shop, Hari finally asks. "Hagrid, what's Quidditch?"  
"Blimey, Hari, I keep forgettin' how little yeh know — not knowin' about Quidditch!"  
"Don't make me feel worse," Hari says looking down at the cobble street sadly. She still felt stupid after her talk with the boy. She decided to tell Hagrid about the conversation they had, leaving out what he said about Hagrid, of course.  
" — and he said people from Muggle families shouldn't even be allowed in — "  
"Yer not _from_ a Muggle family. If he'd known who yeh _were_ — he's grown up knowin' yer name if his parents are wizardin' folk. You saw what everyone in the Leaky Cauldron was like when they saw yeh," Hagrid adds.  
Hari let's out a sigh. "I know, Hagrid. But I was really hoping we could be friends, not because I'm 'famous' but because he liked me. But I went and made a fool  
of myself."  
"Yeh did no such thing," Hagrid says. "Yeh stood up fer yerself. What does 'e know abou' it? Some o' the best I ever saw were the only ones with magic in 'em in a long line o' Muggles — look at yer mum! Look what she had fer a sister!"  
Hari decides to move on from the topic of Muggles vs Wizards. "So what is Quidditch?"  
"It's our sport. Wizard sport. It's like — like football in the Muggle world — everyone follows Quidditch — played up in the air on broomsticks and there's four balls — sorta hard ter explain the rules."  
Hari nods, happy with that information. "And what about Slytherin and Hufflepuff?"  
"School Houses. There's four. Everyone says Hufflepuff are a lot o' duffers, but better Hufflepuff than Slytherin. There's not a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin. You-Know-Who was one."  
Hari didn't like the sound of what Hagrid was saying. Hagrid had told her it was good to stand up against prejudice but then he goes and enforces his own? She knew that Hagrid wasn't a mean person, in fact, he was quite possibly the nicest she had ever met but it just didn't seem fair to generalize a whole group. She wouldn't mention it of course, at least not until she knew more about the school houses. So she picked the other thing that stuck out to her.  
"Vol-, sorry — You-Know-Who went to Hogwarts?"  
"Years an' years ago," Hagrid says.  
They bought Hari's school books in Flourish and Blotts where there were shelves of books that reached the ceiling with books as big as paving stones bound in leather; books the size of postage stamps in covers of silk; books full of odd symbols and a few books with nothing in them. Hagrid had to drag the girl away from _Curses and Counter-curses (Bewitch Your Friends and Befuddle Your Enemies with the Latest Revenges: Hair Loss, Jelly-Legs, Tongue-Tying and Much, Much More)_ by Professor Vindictus Viridian.  
"I was trying to find out how to curse Dudley."  
"I'm not sayin' that's not a good idea, but yer not ter use magic in the Muggle world except in very special circumstances," Hagrid explains. "An' anyway, yeh couldn' work any of them curses yet, yeh'll need a lot more study before yeh get ter that level."  
After some more shopping they had gotten almost everything on her list, "Just yer wand left — oh yeah, an' I still haven't got yeh a birthday present."  
Hari's face went red.  
"You don't have to — "  
"I know I don’t have to. Tell yeh what, I'll get yer animal. Not a toad, toads went outta fashion years ago, yeh'd be laughed at — an' I don' like cats, they make me sneeze. I'll get yer an owl. All the kids want owls, they're dead useful, carry yer post an' everythin'."  
Twenty minutes later, they left Eeylops Owl Emporium with Hari carrying a large cage that held a beautiful snowy owl, who was fast asleep with her head under her wing. This was Hari's first proper birthday gift and she was beyond excited. Her stammering of thanks made her sound like Professor Quirrell.  
"Don' mention it," Hagrid says gruffly. "Don' expect you've had a lotta presents from them Dursleys. Just Ollivanders left now — only place fer wands, Ollivanders, and yeh gotta have the best wand.  
Hari would be lying if she said she wasn't looking forward to getting her own magical wand the most.|  
The shop was narrow and shabby, gold letters that read "Ollivanders: Makers of Fine Wands since 382 b.c." was peeling. In the dusty window sat a single wand  
on a purple cushion.  
As they stepped inside a bell rang somewhere in the depths of the shop. It was tiny in the shop and empty except for a single spindly chair that Hagrid sat on while he waited. Hari stood quietly, looking at the thousands of narrow boxes piled neatly up to the ceiling.  
"Good afternoon," a soft voice speaks suddenly making Hari jump. Hagrid must have jumped too because there was a loud crunching noise and he got quickly off the spindly chair.  
An old man was standing before them, his wide, pale eyes shining like moons through the gloom of the shop.  
"Hello," Hari greets awkwardly.  
"Ah yes, yes, yes. I thought I'd be seeing you soon. Hari Potter." It wasn't a question. "You have your mother's eyes. It seems only yesterday she was in here herself, buying her first wand. Ten and a quarter inches long, swishy, made of willow. Nice wand for charm work."  
Mr. Ollivander suddenly moves closer to Hari and the girl wishes the man would blink. His silvery eyes were creepy.  
"Your father, on the other hand, favoured a mahogany wand. Eleven inches. Pliable. A little more power and excellent for transfiguration. Well, I say your father favoured it — it's really the wand that chooses the wizard, of course."  
Mr. Ollivander had come so close that he and Hari were almost nose to nose. Hari could see her own reflection in his eyes.  
"And that's where. . ." Mr. Ollivander touches her scar with a long white finger. "I'm sorry to say I sold the wand that did it," he says softly. "Thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Powerful wand, very powerful and in the wrong hands. . . Well, if I'd known what that wand was going out into the world to do. . . " he stops himself and shakes his head, then he notices Hagrid.  
"Rubeus! Rubeus Hagrid! How nice to see you again. . . Oak, sixteen inches, rather bendy, wasn't it?"  
"It was, sir, yes."  
"Good wand, that one. But I suppose they snapped it in half when you got expelled?" Ollivander asks in a stern voice, the change from cheerful to stern was sudden and off-putting.  
"Er — yes, they did, yes," Hagrid says, shuffling. "I've still got the pieces, though," he adds brightly.  
“But you don’t use them?” Mr. Ollivander asks sharply.  
“Oh, no, sir." Hari notices Hagrid gripping his umbrella very tightly.  
“Hmmm,” Ollivander says simply before turning back to Hari. “Well, now — Ms. Potter. Let me see.” He pulls a long tape measure with silver markings out of his pocket. “Which is your wand arm?”  
"I'm right-handed?" Hari answers unsure.  
"Hold out your arm. That's it," he measures Hari from shoulder to her fingers, then wrist to elbow, shoulder to floor, knee to armpit, and around her head. As he measured, he explains, "Every Ollivander wand has a core of a powerful magical substance, Ms. Potter. We use unicorn hairs, phoenix tail feathers, and the heartstrings of dragons. No two Ollivander wands are the same, just as no two unicorns, dragons, or phoenixes are quite the same. And of course, you will never get such good results with another wizard’s wand."  
The sudden realization that the tape measurer was acting on its own as Ollivander was shuffling around the shelves was shocking. How had she not noticed that? The tape measurer measures between her nostrils before Mr. Ollivander says, "That will do," and it crumples to the ground.  
"Right then, Ms. Potter. Try this one. Beechwood and dragon heartstring. Nine inches. Nice and flexible. Just take it and give it a wave."  
Hari takes the wand and, though it felt ridiculous, waves it around but Mr. Ollivander snatches it out of her hand quickly.  
"Maple and phoenix feather. Seven  
inches. Quite whippy. Try —”  
Hari tries but she hardly raises the wand before it, too, is snatched back by Mr. Ollivander. “No, no — here, ebony and unicorn hair, eight and a half inches, springy. Go on, go on, try it out.”  
This continues time after time. As the pile of wands that didn't work grew bigger so were Hari's nerves -- _what if she had been right when she told Hagrid she wasn't a witch_? Mr. Ollivander, however, seemed to get more and more happy the more wands they tried.  
“Tricky customer, eh? Not to worry, we’ll find the perfect match here somewhere — I wonder, now — yes, why not — unusual combination — holly and phoenix feather, eleven inches, nice and supple.”  
When Hari took this wand, she immediately knew something was different. Warmth suddenly spilt over her fingers like it was hugging her and as she brought it over her head, bringing it down with a swish a stream of red and gold sparks shot from the end like fireworks. Hagrid whoops and claps and Mr. Ollivander cries, “Oh, bravo! Yes, indeed, oh, very good. Well, well, well . . . how curious . . . how very curious . . .” He continues to mumble "curious" as he takes Hari's wand, puts it into a box and wraps it in brown paper.  
"Sorry, but what's curious?" Hari asks.  
Mr. Ollivander fixed Hari with his pale stare once again, but this time more chilling than the last. “I remember every wand I’ve ever sold, Ms. Potter. Every single wand. It so happens that the phoenix whose tail feather is in your wand, gave another feather — just one other. It is very curious indeed that you should be destined for this wand when its brother — why, its brother gave you that scar.”  
Hari swallows not able to break eye contact with the man.  
“Yes, thirteen-and-a-half inches. Yew. Curious indeed how these things happen. The wand chooses the wizard, remember. . . . I think we must expect great things from you, Ms. Potter. . . . After all, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did great things — terrible, yes, but great.”  
Hari quickly pays the seven gold Galleons for her wand and leaves with Hagrid.

* * *

The sun was hanging low in the sky as the two made their way back through the archway and out of the Leaky Cauldron. Hari only spoke when she told Hagrid the last store she wanted to go to. She had exchanged some of her galleons for pounds when she was in Gringotts.  
They walked down the London street before turning into a store Hari had always wanted to go into. They got weird looks while they were in there but Hari didn't care. When she walks out of the store she has bags full of Muggle clothing. _Brand new clothing_. She got a variety of trousers, shorts, shirts, dresses and jackets. She also got a pair of trainers and a few proper hair products so her hair could be more manageable.  
On any given day, this purchase alone would have made her happier than she'd ever been, but after the day she had, it didn't do much to improve her mood.  
"Got time fer a bite to eat before yer train leaves," Hagrid says. He buys her a hamburger and they sit down on plastic seats to eat. All of Hari's purchases on the ground around them, with the owl cage up on the table — Hari had yet to name her.  
"You all right, Hari? Yer very quiet," Hagrid asks concerned.  
Hari was aware of how ungrateful she was being. This was the best birthday she could have asked for and yet. . .  
"Everyone thinks I’m special,” she finally speaks, finding the words. “All those people in the Leaky Cauldron, Professor Quirrell, Mr. Ollivander . . . but I don’t know anything about magic at all. How can they expect great things? I’m famous and I can’t even remember what I’m famous for. I don’t know what happened when Vol-, sorry — I mean, the night my parents died.”  
Hagrid leans across the table, smiling kindly. "Don’ you worry, Hari. You’ll learn fast enough. Everyone starts at the beginning at Hogwarts, you’ll be just fine. Just be yerself. I know it’s hard. Yeh’ve been singled out, an’ that’s always hard. But yeh’ll have a great time at Hogwarts — I did — still do, ’smatter of fact."  
Too soon after, Hagrid was helping Hari on to the train that would take her back to Privet Drive. Hagrid hands her an envelope.  
"Yer ticket fer Hogwarts," he explains. "First o’ September — King’s Cross — it’s all on yer ticket. Any problems with the Dursleys, send me a letter with yer owl, she’ll know where to find me. . . . See yeh soon, Hari.”  
The train pulls out of the station. Hari presses her nose against the window and watches Hagrid sadly as she leaves. When she blinks, she finds that Hagrid is gone. And now she has to go back to that miserable house for another month. Lovely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hari have met! I hope you guys like my version of Draco. In this book, Draco is just a kid who hasn't been raised properly but as he gets older he matures and realizes that he's more than his parents and name. He is also constantly trying to get Hari's attention/admiration and just goes about it in all the wrong ways.  
Anyways, hope you enjoyed! Comment your thoughts :))


	8. the hogwarts express

C H A P T E R S I X

**the hogwarts express**

The remaining month spent at the Dursley's was fantastic. They were terrified of her and Dudley couldn't even stay in the same room as her. Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia didn't lock her in her cupboard, force her to do any work, hit or shout at her. Instead, they pretended she didn't exist. She was invisible and while this got depressing after a while, it was an improvement from how they use to treat her.  
So Hari stayed in her room, with Hedwig, books, and other new items to keep her company. She had gotten owl Hedwig's name from her book _A History of Magic_. The pretty owl swooped in and out of the open window as she liked and unfortunately, sometimes she would bring dead mice. What time Hari didn't spend reading her new books, she spent practising hairstyles. She tried a new one every day to figure out which looked best, which were quick to do, and which she could use for different occasions — her normal mess of a bun just wouldn't do, she needed to look her best for Hogwarts. And every night before bed, Hari would check a box on a paper she had tacked to the wall that counted down the days to the 1st of September.  
After a month of silence, on the last day of August, Hari decided it was time to talk to her uncle and aunt about how she would make it to King's Cross station.  
Hari walks down the stairs and into the living room, where they all sat watching a quiz show on television. When she clears her throat to alert them of her presence Dudley screams and runs out of the room.  
"Er — Uncle Vernon?"  
Uncle Vernon grunts to show he was listening.  
"Could you take me to King's Cross tomorrow to — to leave."  
Grunt. Hari would take that as a yes.  
"Thank you," Hari says turning to go back upstairs but the man began speaking.  
"Funny way to get to a wizards' school, the train. Magic carpets all got punctures, have they?"  
When Hari says nothing, the man continues asking questions. "Where is this school, anyway?"  
"I'm not sure," Hari responds, having never thought about it. She pulls the ticket out of her hand and looks at it. "I just take the train from platform nine and three-quarters at eleven o'clock."  
"Platform what?"  
"Nine and three-quarters."  
"Don't talk rubbish. There is no platform nine and three-quarters." Uncle Vernon snaps.  
"It's on my ticket," Hari says, not knowing anything else than that.  
"Barking," Uncle Vernon insults, “howling mad, the lot of them. You’ll see. You just wait. All right, we’ll take you to King’s Cross. We’re going up to London tomorrow anyway, or I wouldn’t bother."  
“Why are you going to London?" Hari asks, trying to keep things friendly.  
“Taking Dudley to the hospital. Got to have that ruddy tail removed before he goes to Smeltings." The man growls

* * *

Hari wakes up at five the next morning. Too excited and too nervous to go back to sleep. She gently puts on the clothes she had laid out the night before, as if she was worried that the clothes would be ruined if she was too rough with them. She slid her never before worn light washed dungarees on over her long-sleeved white shirt with thin stripes. She had decided a couple of days ago on what hairstyle would best "fit" the first day at her new school. It was simple low pigtails that left out enough fringe on her left to cover her scar.  
She lost count of how many times she had checked her Hogwarts list but she goes over it again to make sure she had everything. She made sure Hedwig was safely put in her cage and put her white trainers on. Looking in the mirror at herself she exhaled heavily, preparing herself for what was the biggest adventure of her short life. Making sure her scar is covered, as she pulls her shoulders back, confidently nods in the mirror and walks away to begin dragging her heavy trunk down the stairs, where she would wait for the Dursleys to get up.  
Two hours later, Hari's large trunk is packed into the boot of the Dursley's car. Aunt Petunia finally convinces Dudley to sit next to his cousin, and they head off.  
They reach King's Cross at half-past ten. Uncle Vernon quickly drops Hari's trunk onto a trolley and wheels it into the station. Hari thought it was oddly kind until Uncle Vernon stops dead in his tracks and faces the platform with a nasty grin.  
“Well, there you are, girl. Platform nine — platform ten. Your platform should be somewhere in the middle, but they don’t seem to have built it yet, do they?"  
What makes Hari frustrated is that he's right. The plastic signs read _nine_ over on platform and _ten_ over the one next to it, leaving nothing in between. "Have a good term," Uncle Vernon smirks and leaves the girl. Hari watches as the Dursley's drive away, all three laughing.  
Hari feels panic wash over her like ice-cold water. What was she going to do? Muggles were already looking at her strangely because of Hedwig. She begrudgingly realizes she would have to ask someone for help.  
When she stops a passing guard, not only has he never heard of Hogwarts but he quickly becomes annoyed with the young girl. Like she was purposefully acting daft. In the end, the guard simply walks away, mumbling about having his time wasted. Hari is close to a full-blown panic attack when she looks up at the large clock over the arrivals board and sees that she only has ten minutes to get on to a train she couldn't find. She is stranded in the middle of a station with a trunk that weighs more than her, a pocket of wizard money and an owl.  
As she was considering taking her wand out and tapping all the bricks in the station, a group of people walk past her and she catches a few words of what was being said.  
" — packed with Muggles, of course — "  
Hari swings around. The speaker was a plump woman who was speaking to four young boys, each with a head of flaming red hair. They all had trunks like Hari and when Hari sees an owl, her heart starts hammering. This is her chance.  
Hari pushes her trolley after them and when they stop, so did she, making sure to only be as close to them as she needed to be to eavesdrop.  
“Now, what’s the platform number?" the boys’ mother asks.  
“Nine and three-quarters," the small girl pipes up, also red-headed and holding her mother's hand, “Mum, can’t I go . . ."  
“You’re not old enough, Ginny, now be quiet. All right, Percy, you go first."  
The boy, who Hari thought was the oldest of the lot, marches towards platforms nine and ten. Hari watches focused, careful not to blink in case she misses it. But just as the boy reaches the dividing barrier between the two platforms, a large crowd of tourists comes swarming in front of him and by the time the last backpack has cleared, the boy is gone.  
“Fred, you next," the plump woman instructs.  
“I’m not Fred, I’m George," the boy protests offended. “Honestly, woman, you call yourself our mother? Can’t you tell I’m George?"  
“Sorry, George, dear."  
“Only joking, I am Fred" the boy jests, and off he goes. His twin calls after him to hurry up, and he must have done so because a second later, he was gone — but how had he done it? Now the third brother was walking briskly toward the barrier — he was almost there — and then, quite suddenly, he wasn’t anywhere.  
As Hari watches, she finds herself no closer to figuring out how to get onto the platform. Shyly shuffling her way up to the woman, she speaks, "Excuse me?"  
"Hello, dear. First time at Hogwarts? Ron's new, too." The woman points at her last and youngest son, a tall, thin, gangling, freckled redheaded boy.  
With a sheepish smile at the boy, she turns back to the woman. "Yes, but the thing is — the thing is, I don't know how to —"  
"How to get onto the platform?" she asks kindly and Hari nods. "Not to worry. All you have to do is walk straight at the barrier between platforms nine and ten. Don’t stop and don’t be scared you’ll crash into it, that’s very important. Best do it at a bit of a run if you’re nervous. Go on, go now before Ron."  
"Er — okay," Hari says and takes a deep breath before deciding to take the woman's advice. Making sure that no Muggles were in her way, she runs full speed at the wall. She closes her eyes, bracing for when she crashes into the barrier that was getting closer and closer. . .  
But it doesn't happen. Opening her eyes, she looks around and sees a scarlet steam engine sitting next to a platform packed with people. Looking up at an overhead sign it reads, "Hogwarts Express, eleven o'clock." Looking behind her, Hari sees a wrought-iron archway where the barrier had been with the words _Platform Nine and Three Quarters _on it.  
She did it.  
Smoke from the engine drifts over the heads of the crowd. Cats of every colour twisted between legs as owls hooted to one another over the chatter and scraping of heavy trunks.  
The first few carriages were already packed with students, some hanging out of the window to talk to family, some fighting over seats. Hari continues pushing her trolley down the platform looking for an empty seat watching the interactions happening around her.  
She finds one near the end of the train, putting Hedwig inside first and then she begins trying to shove and heave her trunk towards the train door.  
"Want a hand?" A voice asks her and when Hari looks over she sees it's one of the red-haired twins she'd followed through the barrier.  
"Oh, yes please." Hari gives him a large smile as she pants from exertion.  
"Oy, Fred! C'mere and help!" the one yells and Fred comes out. Hari remembered their names were Fred and George, so this must be George.  
After a couple of seconds of Hari trying to help but only getting in the way, the two assure her that they could and were happy to just do it themselves. Hari continues to say thank you every time they did anything. She felt so embarrassed and of course, her traitor brain choose now to notice how cute the two boys were.   
They're just being nice, she reminds herself, you can't go crushing on every nice boy. But as a young girl who had never had anyone be kind to her, it was hard for her to distinguish feelings of romantic attraction and friendly affection.  
"Thank you," Hari says one last time as the trunk is finally tucked away in a corner of the compartment. She pushes her sweaty fringe out of her eyes.  
"What's that?" one of the twins suddenly asks, pointing to Hari's lightning scar.  
"Blimey, are you —?" the other twin says.  
"She _is_," the first twin continues. "Aren't you?" he asks.  
"What?" Hari asks confused.  
"_Hari Potter,_" the twins say together.  
"Oh, her. I mean, yes, I am."  
The two boys gawk at her and Hari's face turns as red as their hair. To her relief, a voice comes floating in through the train's open door.  
"Fred? George? Are you there?"  
"Coming, Mum."  
With one last look at the girl, the twins hop off the train.  
Hari sits next to the window, half widen, and watches the red-haired family on the platform.  
"Ron, you've got something on your nose," the mother says, pulling out a handkerchief and rubbing at his nose.  
"_Mum_ \- geroff," he says wiggling free.  
"Aaah, has ickle Ronnie got somefink on his nose," Fred teases.  
"Shut up," Ron mumbles.  
"Where's Percy?" their mother asks, looking around for the oldest.  
"He's coming now."  
The eldest boy walks up to them, already in his black Hogwarts robes and Hari notice a shiny, red and gold badge on his chest with the letter _P_ on it.  
"Can't stay long, Mother," the boy says. "I'm up front, the prefects have got two compartments to themselves — "  
“Oh, are you a prefect, Percy?” one of the twins says, with a voice of mock surprise. “You should have said something, we had no idea.”  
“Hang on, I think I remember him saying something about it,” the other twin adds. “Once —”  
“Or twice —”  
“A minute —”  
“All summer —”  
“Oh, shut up,” says Percy the Prefect.  
“How come Percy gets new robes, anyway?” one of the twins asks.  
“Because he’s a _prefect_,” their mother says fondly. “All right, dear, well, have a good term — send me an owl when you get there.”  
She kisses the eldest on the cheek and he leaves. She then turns to the twins.  
“Now, you two — this year, you behave yourselves. If I get one more owl telling me you’ve — you’ve blown up a toilet or —”  
“Blown up a toilet? We’ve never blown up a toilet."  
“Great idea though, thanks, Mum.”  
“It’s not funny. And look after Ron.”  
“Don’t worry, ickle Ronniekins is safe with us.”  
"Shut up," Ron says once again. 'Ickle Ronniekins' was almost as tall as the twins already.  
"Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train?"  
Hari leans back in her chair so they couldn't see her eavesdropping.  
"You know that black-haired girl who was near us in the station? Know who she is?"  
"Who?"  
"_Hari Potter!_"  
The little girl speaks, " oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see her, Mum, oh please. . ."  
"You've already seen her, Ginny, and the poor girl isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is she really, Fred? How do you know?"  
“Asked her. Saw her scar. It’s really there — like lightning.”  
“Poor dear — no wonder she was alone, I wondered. She was ever so polite when she asked how to get onto the platform.”  
“Never mind that, do you think she remembers what You-Know-Who looks like?”  
Their mother suddenly becomes very stern. “I forbid you to ask her, Fred. No, don’t you dare. As though she needs reminding of that on her first day at school.”  
“All right, keep your hair on.” A whistle sounds.  
“Hurry up!” their mother says, and the three boys clamber onto the train. They lean out of the window for her to kiss them good-bye, and their younger sister begins to cry.  
“Don’t cry, Ginny, we’ll send you loads of owls.”  
“We’ll send you a Hogwarts toilet seat.”  
“_George_!”  
“Only joking, Mum.”  
Hari watches as the train begins to move and the boys' mother waves while their sister runs to keep up with it. She's half laughing, half crying and when the train gets too fast, she falls back and waves.  
Houses flash past the windows and Hari feels a rush of excitement. She was off to Hogwarts.  
The door of the compartment slides open and the youngest red-head walks in. "Anyone sitting there? Everywhere else is full."  
Hari shakes her head and the boy sits down across from her. He tries to sneakily glance at Hari as he looks out the window. Hari knew he wanted to ask her questions but he was nervous.  
"Hey, Ron," one of the twins says walking into the compartment. "Listen, we’re going down the middle of the train — Lee Jordan’s got a giant tarantula down there.”  
"Right," the younger boy mumbles.  
"Hari," the other twin says, "did we introduce ourselves? Fred and George Weasley. And this is Ron, our brother. See you later, then."  
"Bye," the two first-years say and the twins close the compartment doors.  
"Are you really Hari Potter?" Ron blurts out finally.  
Hari gives a small smile as she nods. Hagrid really wasn't lying when he said she was famous.  
"Oh — well, I thought it might be one of Fred and George's jokes," Ron tries to explain. "And have you really got — you know. . ." He points at the girl's forehead.  
Hari pushes her fringe to the side to give him a better view of the white scar. Ron stares for a while without saying anything and Hari starts to feel self-conscious.  
"So that's where You-Know-Who — ?" Ron decides to say but trailing off at the end.  
"Yep. But before you ask, I don't remember anything," Hari says.  
"Nothing?" Ron asks eagerly.  
"Well, if you really want to know" Hari begins hesitantly, "I remember a lot of green light. Some pain and stuff."  
"Wow," Ron says in amazement. He sits and stares at the girl again for a few moments then like he suddenly realizes he's not supposed to, he looks quickly out the window again.  
"Are all your family wizards?" Hari asks, as interested in the boy as he was in her.  
"Er — yes, I think so,” said Ron. “I think Mum’s got a second cousin who’s an accountant, but we never talk about him.”  
It seems the Weasleys are one of those old wizarding families the pale boy in Diagon Alley had been talking about.  
"I heard you went to live with Muggles. What are they like?" Ron asks.  
"Horrible — well, not all of them. My aunt, uncle and cousin are, though. Wish I'd had three wizard brothers."  
"Five," Ron corrects, looking gloomy for reasons Hari couldn't understand. "I’m the sixth in our family to go to Hogwarts. You could say I’ve got a lot to live up to. Bill and Charlie have already left — Bill was head boy and Charlie was captain of Quidditch. Now Percy’s a prefect. Fred and George mess around a lot, but they still get really good marks and everyone thinks they’re really funny. Everyone expects me to do as well as the others, but if I do, it’s no big deal, because they did it first. You never get anything new, either, with five brothers. I’ve got Bill’s old robes, Charlie’s old wand, and Percy’s old rat."  
Ron reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls a fat grey rat out.  
"His name’s Scabbers and he’s useless, he hardly ever wakes up. Percy got an owl from my dad for being made a prefect, but they couldn’t aff— I mean, I got Scabbers instead," Ron's ears go pink, seeming to think he said too much he looks back out the window.  
Hari didn't think there was anything wrong with not being able to afford an owl. She had never had any money in her life until a month ago, so she told Ron. Told him about having to wear second hand clothes and never getting birthday presents. It all seems to cheer the redhead up.  
". . . And until Hagrid told me, I didn't know anything about being a wizard or about my parents or Voldemort — "  
Ron gasps.  
"What?" Hari asks confused.  
"_You said You-Know-Who's name!_" Ron says, sounding both shocked and impressed. "I'd have thought you, of all people — "  
"I’m not trying to be _brave_ or anything, saying the name," Hari says, "I just never knew you shouldn’t. See what I mean? I’ve got loads to learn. . . . I bet," she adds, voicing for the first time something that had been worrying her a lot, "I bet I’m the worst in the class."  
"You won't be. There's loads of people who come from Muggle families and they learn quick enough."  
As they talk, the train pulls them out of London and they speed past fields of cows and sheep. The two sit quietly for a while, watching the fields and lanes flick past.  
Around half past twelve, there was a great clattering outside the corridor and a smiling, dimpled woman slid back their door and says, "Anything off the trolley, dears?"  
Hari, who hadn't had breakfast, leapt to her feet, but Ron's ears went pink again and he mutters that he'd brought sandwiches. Hari goes out into the corridor, excited. She had never had money to get candy with the Dursleys and now she had pockets rattling with gold and silver. She was taken back when she realizes the woman did not have Mars Bars, rather she had Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans, Drooble’s Best Blowing Gum, Chocolate Frogs, Pumpkin Pasties, Cauldron Cakes, Licorice Wands, and a number of other strange things Hari had never heard of. So she bought everything, paying the woman eleven silver Sickles and seven bronze Knuts.  
Ron stares at Hari as she brings all her treats back into the compartment and empties her arms onto the seat beside her. "Hungry, are you?"  
"Starving," Hari responds taking a big bite out of a pumpkin pasty.  
Ron takes out a lumpy package and unwraps it. Inside sit four sandwiches. He pulls one of them apart and says, "She always forgets I don’t like corned beef."  
Hari smiles at the boy and holds up a pasty, "Swap you for one of these. Go on —"  
"You don’t want this, it’s all dry," Ron says. "She hasn’t got much time," he explains quickly, "you know, with five of us."  
“Go on, have a pasty,” Hari encourages enthusiastically. She had never had anything to share before or even anyone to share _with_. It was a nice feeling, sitting with Ron, eating all the pasties, cakes, and candies — the sandwiches lay forgotten.  
“What are these?” Hari asks Ron, holding up a pack of Chocolate Frogs. “They’re not really frogs, are they?” She was starting to feel that nothing would surprise her.  
"No," Ron laughs. "But see what the card is. I’m missing Agrippa."  
"What?"  
"Oh, of course, you wouldn’t know — Chocolate Frogs have cards inside them, you know, to collect — famous witches and wizards. I’ve got about five hundred, but I haven’t got Agrippa or Ptolemy."  
Hari unwraps her Chocolate Frog and picks up the card. It shows a man, wearing half-moon glasses with a long, crooked nose, and flowing silver hair, beard, and moustache. Underneath the picture was the name Albus Dumbledore.  
“So this is Dumbledore!” Hari connects, remembering Hagrid telling her about the man. He really respected him, said he was the only one Voldemort feared.  
“Don’t tell me you’d never heard of Dumbledore!” Ron says in disbelief. "Can I have a frog? I might get Agrippa — thanks — "  
Hari turns over her card and reads:

**ALBUS DUMBLEDORE**

_______________________________

_currently headmaster of Hogwarts_

_Considered by many the greatest wizard of modern times,  
_ _Dumbledore is particularly famous for his defeat of the  
_ _Dark wizard Grindelwald in 1945, for the discovery of the  
_ _twelve uses of dragon's blood, and his work on alchemy  
_ _with his partner, Nicolas Flamel. Professor Dumbledore  
_ _enjoys chamber music and tenpin bowling._

Hari turns the card back over and sees that Dumbledore's face has disappeared. "He's gone!" she shouts in astonishment.  
"Well, you can't expect him to hang around all day," Ron says like the thought was ridiculous. "He'll be back. No, I've got Morgana again and I've got about six of her. . . Do you want it? You can start collecting."  
Ron's eyes stray to the pile of Chocolate Frogs. "Help yourself," Hari tells him. "But in, you know, the Muggle world, people just stay put in pictures."  
"Do they? What, they don't move at all?" Ron says sounding amazed. "_Weird!_"  
Hari stares at Dumbledore as he slid back into the picture on his card and gives him a smile. Ron was busy eating the frogs and didn't have any interest in the Famous Witches and Wizard cards, but Hari couldn't take her eyes off of them. She now had Dumbledore, Morgana, Hengist of Woodcraft, Alberic Grunnion, Circe, Paracelsus, and Merlin. She only tore her eyes away from the druidess Cliodna to open a bag of Bertie Bott's Every Flavour Beans.  
"You want to be careful with those," Ron warns, "When they say every flavour, they _mean _every flavour — you know, you get all the ordinary ones like chocolate and peppermint and marmalade, but then you get spinach and liver and tripe. George reckons he had a bogey-flavoured one once."  
Cautiously picking up a green bean, Ron bits into the corner. "Bleeaarrgg — see? Sprouts."  
The two had a good time eating the Every Flavour Beans. Hari got toast, coconut, baked beans, strawberry, curry, grass, coffee, sardine, and was brave enough to nibble the end off a funny grey one Ron wouldn't touch, which happened to be pepper.  
By now the fields were long gone, replaced with woods, twisting rivers, and dark green hills. Hari much preferred it to the neat fields.  
There was a knock on the door of their compartment and a round-faced boy came in, looking tearful. "Sorry, but have you seen a toad at all?"  
When the two shake their heads, he wails. "I've lost him! He keeps getting away from me!"  
"He'll turn up," Hari reassures feeling bad for the boy.  
"Yes," the boy says miserably. "Well, if you see him. . ." He then leaves.  
“Don’t know why he’s so bothered,” Ron says. “If I’d brought a toad I’d lose it as quick as I could. Mind you, I brought Scabbers, so I can’t talk.”  
The rat sat sleeping on Ron’s lap. “He might have died and you wouldn’t know the difference,” Ron says in disgust. “I tried to turn him yellow yesterday to make him more interesting, but the spell didn’t work. I’ll show you, look . . .”  
He rummages around in his trunk and pulls out a very battered-looking wand. It was chipped in places and something white was glinting at the end.  
"Unicorn hair's nearly poking out. Anyway — "  
Just as he raises his wand, the door slides open once again. The toadless boy was back, this time with a girl. She was already wearing her new Hogwarts robes.  
"Has anyone seen a toad? Neville's lost one," she asks in a bossy voice. She had bushy brown hair and large front teeth.  
"We've already told him we haven't seen it," Ron says but the girl wasn't listening, she was looking at his wand.  
"Oh, are you doing magic? Let's see it, then."  
She sat down and Ron looks at her taken back.  
"Er — all right." Ron clears his throat. "_Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, Turn this stupid, fat rat yellow_." He waves his wand, but nothing happened. Scabbers stayed grey and fast asleep.  
“Are you sure that’s a real spell?” the girl asks. “Well, it’s not very good, is it? I’ve tried a few simple spells just for practice and it’s all worked for me. Nobody in my family’s magic at all, it was ever such a surprise when I got my letter, but I was ever so pleased, of course, I mean, it’s the very best school of witchcraft there is, I’ve heard — I’ve learned all our set books by heart, of course, I just hope it will be enough — I'm Hermione Granger, by the way, who are you?"  
She spoke at an impressive speed.  
Hari looks at Ron panicked but is relieved to see by his stunned face that he hadn't learned all the course books either.  
"I'm Ron Weasley," Ron mutters.  
"Hari Potter," Hari greets with a polite smile.  
"Are you really?" Hermione asks. "I know all about you, of course — I got a few extra books for background reading, and you’re in _Modern Magical History _and_ The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts _and_ Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century_."  
"Am I?" Hari asks, feeling dazed.  
"Goodness, didn’t you know, I’d have found out everything I could if it was me," Hermione says. "Do either of you know what House you’ll be in? I’ve been asking around, and I hope I’m in Gryffindor, it sounds by far the best; I hear Dumbledore himself was in it, but I suppose Ravenclaw wouldn’t be too bad. . . . Anyway, we’d better go and look for Neville’s toad. You two had better change, you know, I expect we’ll be there soon."  
Before either of them can speak, she leaves taking the boy — Neville — with her.  
"Whatever House I’m in, I hope she’s not in it," Ron insults and Hari feels bad that she sort of agrees. He throws his wand back into his trunk. "Stupid spell — George gave it to me, bet he knew it was a dud."  
"What House are your brothers in?" Hari asks curiously.  
"Gryffindor," Ron answers but gloom seems to settle on him. "Mum and Dad were in it, too. I don't know what they'll say if I'm not. I don't suppose Ravenclaw _would_ be too bad, but imagine if they put me in Slytherin."  
"That’s the House Vol-, I mean, You-Know-Who was in?” Hari says adding her limited knowledge to the conversation. Her mind flickered back to the pale boy, he had wanted to be in Slytherin.  
"Yeah," Ron says. He flops back into his seat, looking depressed.  
"You know, I think the ends of Scabbers’ whiskers are a bit lighter," Hari says, trying to take Ron’s mind off Houses. "So what do your oldest brothers do now that they’ve left, anyway?" Hari was wondering what a wizard did once he’d finished school.  
"Charlie's in Romania studying dragons, and Bill's in Africa doing something for Gringotts," Ron answers Hari. "Did you hear about Gringotts? It's been all over the _Daily Prophet_, but I don't suppose you get that with the Muggles — someone tried to rob a high security vault."  
"Really? What happened to them?" Hari asks staring at Ron.  
"Nothing, that’s why it’s such big news. They haven’t been caught. My dad says it must’ve been a powerful Dark wizard to get round Gringotts, but they don’t think they took anything, that’s what’s odd. ’Course, everyone gets scared when something like this happens in case You-Know-Who’s behind it."  
Hari was staring to worry every time You-Know-Who was mentioned. She had felt much more comfortable saying "Voldemort", it empowered her in some way.  
"What's your Quidditch team?" Ron asks as if what he just told her was no big deal.  
"Er — I don't know any," she confesses.  
"What!" Ron shouts looking dumbfounded. "Oh, you wait, it's the best game in the world — " And he was off, explaining all about the four balls and the positions of the seven players, describing famous games he'd been to with his brothers and the broomstick he'd like to get if he had the money. He was just taking Hari through the finer points of the game when the compartment door slid open yet again but this time it was someone Hari hadn't expected.  
Three boys enter and the middle one was the pale boy she had been thinking about since meeting him in Madam Malkin's robe shop.  
"Ah, it is you," he says. "They're saying all down the train that Hari Potter's in this compartment. So your name really is Potter."  
"Yeah, it is," she smiles at him but it falls as she looks at the boys on either side of him. Both were thickset and looked extremely mean. They stood like bodyguards on either side of the boy. "I — uh, never got your name."  
"This is Crabbe and this is Goyle," the boy introduces, noticing where Hari was looking. "My names Malfoy, Draco Malfoy."  
Ron gave a cough that seemed to cover a snigger causing Draco to look at him.  
"Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who you are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."  
"Stop it, both of you," Hari says, a stern look on her face.  
Draco turns back to her. "You'll soon find out some wizarding families are much better than others, Potter. You don't want to go making friends with the wrong sort. I can help you there."  
Hari tilts her chin up at Draco. "Well, I couldn't care less who his family is," Hari says looking at the blond. "I make friends with people who are nice and it seems you can not help me with that."  
Draco Malfoy didn't go red, but his cheeks turned pink as his face turned cold. "I'd be careful if I were you, Potter. Be a bit politer. Hanging out with riffraff like the Weasleys will rub off on you."  
Ron stands up, face as red as his hair. "Say that again."  
"Oh, you're going to fight us, are you?" Malfoy sneers and Hari jumps up in between them.  
She gives Ron a look — telling him to sit down — before turning to Draco. "No one's going to be fighting because you won't be staying," she says forcing herself to be confident and brave as she steps towards the trio. Mustering her best glare, she growls out, "Leave Malfoy."  
Emerald green burn into cold silver as they stare at each other.  
Crabbe moves to push Hari back but Draco puts his hand up. "Don't touch her. . . I feel like leaving anyway," he says, looking at Hari one last time before turning around and storming off. His meatheads following him closely.  
Hari lets out a break of relief. The last thing she wants is for Ron and her to get beat up before they could even make it to Hogwarts.  
Hermione Granger comes in, having seen the three boys storm off. "What's going on?" she asks.  
"Nothing," Hari waves her off and goes to sit back down.  
"You've met Malfoy before?" Ron asks.  
"Well — I met him while I was shopping for school supplies in Diagon Alley," Hari explains, "but he was much nicer then."  
Ron scoffs, "Nice? I've heard of his family. They were some of the first to come back to our side after You-Know-Who disappeared. Said they’d been bewitched. My dad doesn’t believe it. He says Malfoy’s father didn’t need an excuse to go over to the Dark Side." He turns to Hermione. "Can we help you with something?"  
"You'd better hurry up and put your robes on, I've just been up to the front to ask the conductor and he says we're nearly there. You haven't been fighting, have you? You'll be in trouble before we even get there!"  
"No, we weren't fighting," Ron says scowling at her. "Hari scared them off, she looks scary when she's all mad." Hari tries to stop her ears from turning red at Ron's prideful tone. "Now, would you mind leaving while we can change?"  
"All right — I only came in here because people outside are behaving very childishly, racing up and down the corridors," Hermione says in a sniffy voice. "And you’ve got dirt on your nose, by the way, did you know?"  
Ron glares at her as she leaves and Hari looks out the window. It was getting dark. Under the deep purple sky sat beautiful mountains and forests. The train was slowing down. Ron takes off his jacket and the two pull their long black robes on. Ron's fit him a bit short, showing his trainers underneath.  
A voice echoes through the train: "We will be reaching Hogwarts in five minutes' time. Please leave your luggage on the train, it will be taken to the school separately."  
Hari's stomach lurches with nerves and Ron pales under his freckles. They cram their — thankfully very big — pockets with the last of the sweets and join the crowd thronging the corridor.  
The train slows down and then stops. People push their way towards the door and out on to a tiny, dark platform. Hari shivers in the cold night air. A lamp comes bobbing over the heads of the students and Hari smiles when she hears the familiar voice: "Firs' years! Firs' years over here! All right there, Hari?"  
Hagrid's big hairy face beams at her over the sea of heads. "C’mon, follow me — any more firs’ years? Mind yer step, now! Firs’ years follow me!"  
They slip and stumble as they follow the giant down what seems to be a steep, narrow path. It was so dark on either side of them that Hari thought there must be thick trees. It was silent besides the occasional sniffle from the Neville boy.  
"Yeh’ll get yer firs’ sight o’ Hogwarts in a sec," Hagrid calls over his shoulder, "jus’ round this bend here."  
There was a loud "Oooooh!"  
The narrow path suddenly opens onto the edge of a great black lake. Sat atop a high mountain on the other side, its windows sparkling in the starry sky was a vast castle with many turrets and towers. It was beautiful.  
"No more'n four to a boat!" Hagrid calls, pointing to a fleet of little boats sitting in the water by the shore. Hari and Ron were followed into their boat by Neville and Hermione.  
"Everyone in?" Hagrid shouts from his own boat. "Right then — FORWARD!"  
The fleet of little boats move off all at once, gliding across the lake, which was as smooth as glass. Everyone sat silently, staring up at the great castle. It towered over them as they sailed nearer and nearer to the cliff.  
"Heads down!" Hagrid yells as the first boats reach the cliff. They all bend their heads and the boats carry them through a curtain of ivy that hid a wide opening in the face of the cliff. The boats continue to glide down a dark tunnel that takes them right underneath the castle. They stop at some kind of underground harbour, where they clamber out onto rocks and pebbles.  
"Oy, you there! Is this your toad?" Hagrid asks as he checks all the boats.  
"Trevor!" Neville cries blissfully, holding his hands out.  
The first-years all climb up a passageway in the rock after Hagrid's lamp and come out onto a smooth, damp grass right in the shadow of the castle. They walk up the flight of stone steps and crowd around the huge oak front doors.  
"Everyone here? You there, still got yer toad?"  
Hagrid raises his great fist and knocks three times on the castle door.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright!! This note is going to be just me adding to the history of Hari and is not really important to the story. So you can just skip this if you want to.  
In the original HP universe, James Potter's mother is Euphemia Potter and not much is known about her other than the fact that she's a pureblood Gryffindor who married Fleamont Potter and had a son late in life. So that made it easy to add to her background for my own story plot purposes.  
As mentioned in chapter two she is Brazilian so we will be using the Portuguese form of Euphemia (Eufemia) and while I have not mentioned it in the story Hari is named after her (Nahara Eufemia Potter). After some research of Brazilian characters, I have decided that Eufemia will be the daughter of Libatius Borage (whos surname will be changed to Desmoncus because to me a group of plants found throughout Latin America makes more sense as a Brazilian last name than a herb grown in the UK, Denmark, France, etc.) and, while it is never specified, I will assume Libatius is a pureblood. So basically the story is that while Libatius was getting his potions book publish him and his family (only one daughter) lived in England meaning that Eufemia went to Hogwarts instead of Castelobruxo and there she met Fleamont. Sometime after school they got married and lived as a beautiful rich couple until they had their spoilt little brat, James Libatius Potter. Who grew into a wonderful person who fought in the war and knowingly sacrificed his own life for his wife and child without a second thought.  
But honestly, I like this version because Libatius was one of the most famous potioneers and his daughter marries Fleamont who also becomes an accomplished potioneer. Then their child, James, marries Lily, an extremely gifted potioneer and of course their child (Hari) goes on to marry another who is rather talented at potions (Draco). So this is just a legacy of Potion Masters.  
Anyways that's it! Nothing to do with this chapter I just thought I'd share :))


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